


Violet City

by droid_girl



Series: Trope-ical Places [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: -Ish, Angst, Character Death, Dark-ish, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Humour, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Molly Weasley Bashing, Not CC compliant, Older Man/Younger Woman, Past Violence, Romance, Suicidal Thoughts, Teacher-Student Relationship, Time Travel, Unkind Mentions of Ronald Weasley, a love story in two parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-09-28 05:28:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 50,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17176781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/droid_girl/pseuds/droid_girl
Summary: Time Travel!In the middle of a war, Remus steps into a cupboard.When he emerges, he finds himself decades away from the world he knew, facing a Hermione Granger he barely recognizes.Despite becoming immediately and desperately curious about the reasons which drove Hermione into becoming a drunk, semi-suicidal woman, it takes Remus less than a week to realize he's probably the only one enjoying a future without the looming presence of a Dark Lord......and only slightly longer for him to want to stay right beside the smartest witch he had ever met, if only to save her from herself.But with the shadow of the past stretching behind him, can Remus save her, and everyone he cares for?(Or: This is a love story that happens twice)Warning: Hermione's early behaviour in this story is strongly influenced by Jessica Jones so totally understand if it’s not your cup of teaAlso: Neither Ron nor Molly are referred to kindly, though Molly certainly comes off as a terrible human.Also: flagrant references to silly pop cultural things





	1. Prologue

Antrim was beautiful. Better than beautiful, really. The ancient landscape was breathtaking, and ethereal but...

The right side of Remus's body was currently a mess of bruises, so his appreciation of the scenery was just the slightest bit affected.

Sitting in his rented room, he stared at the large fireplace in front of him, and at the small tin of Floo powder perched upon the edge of the soot-stained mantelpiece. Tiredly, he considered his options.

Remus knew what duty demanded - duty would compel him to travel back to Scotland immediately, to provide Albus with a report of his most recent failure. The Commander-in-Chief had to be told that the wolves of Northern Ireland were not on their side.

Not that they were on anyone’s side - the wolves were for the wolves.

But duty was duty.

What his _body_ wanted on the other hand, was something else entirely. Twitching his hand towards his wand, an involuntary hiss of pain slipped past his chapped lips, as his flesh blazed to life in a burst of agony.

Turning his gaze towards the clock on the wall, Remus took note of the time.

It was only three in the afternoon. If he made it back to Hogwarts now, he would be out of Albus's office in thirty minutes. Given the fact _The Apothecary_ in Diagon Alley closed at six, by the time he was finished up at the castle, he would still have time to complete his monthly shopping for an extremely necessary potion.

Pondering his choices, the wizard craned his neck and regarded the unmade bed behind him with no small amount of yearning.

All Remus needed was some rest, and his more-than-human body would be repaired by the following sunrise; all he needed was sleep, and his lycanthropic cells would take care of a good portion of his hurts...

Unbidden, his mind raised the memory of Hermione Granger, and her essay on werewolves back in her third year. Smiling grimly to himself, he wondered if the girl had ever realized that not all aspects of lycanthropy were so terrible. Indeed, many of his brethren treated their shared malaise as if it were a blessing rather than a curse…

With some fondness, he recalled his former student’s sweet, selfless enthusiasm for every living soul, and her determined campaign to save the House Elves from a life of enslavement…

Unexpectedly, Remus suddenly found himself wishing fervently for a chance to witness the woman Hermione Granger would grow into. Surely, the witch would be magnificent to behold, in a world without the looming threat of a crazed Dark Lord.

_Of course, if wishes were horses, men like him would not turn into ravening beasts by the light of the full moon._

A sharp stab of pain brought him back to the present, causing him to grimace.

Decision solidified in his mind.

 _Tomorrow_ , he thought with a sigh as he lay down on the lumpy mattress. Tomorrow he would go back to Scotland, and then after, he would go to old Nicholas to purchase his monthly supply of Wolfsbane Potion.

Besides, it wasn’t as if the room wasn’t already paid for, for one more night. It would be a waste not to take advantage of the bed, uncomfortable though it really was.

There was his mission report to give of course...but it didn’t matter if he provided it to Albus now or later. The wolves had no intention of changing their minds any time soon, and the extent of his injuries were proof enough of their convictions.

As sleep took Remus, the clock on the wall ticked onwards at an inexorable pace.


	2. Wide Awake in this Violet City

It was a Tuesday night in May, and Winter had been over for weeks.

Not that most people could tell, considering it was still cold as all hell, and gloomy to boot. The world existed in a state of permanent twilight, and nobody was eager to be out and about.

Adjusting his old, scarlet scarf, Remus hurried down Knockturn Alley, and cursed himself soundly for having stayed an extra night in Antrim. Apparently, _today_ was the first day of Nicholas’s holiday to Ibiza, and _The Apothecary_ was most definitely closed for business.

Pushing aside all disturbing thoughts of Nicholas wearing not much more than a red Speedo, Remus focused his efforts on making his way to the extremely unoriginally named shop, _Deals and Steals_.

Though really, the shop should simply have been called, _Steals_.

Doubtless, Remus was going to wind up spending twice or even three times more than what he had budgeted for his monthly dose of Potion.

What he was going to do for food for the rest of the month, he had no idea. That was a problem for future-Remus, who was probably going to need to file some paperwork with the Muggle welfare office, which would have been a humiliating trial for anyone else, except that he had grown used to such measures in the course of his long life.

He supposed he could have owled Dumbledore, who would have ordered Snape to whip up a batch of Wolfsbane Potion...and Snape would have done it too. But that would only have resulted in weeks of contemptuous glares from the Potions Master, and Remus would rather fill out forms in triplicate, than deal with that git's scathing glances.

Turning a corner, Remus froze abruptly in his tracks.

 _Fenrir Greyback_ , he thought as his mouth automatically pulled back into a silent snarl.

Stepping backwards, Remus observed with a deep scowl as Greyback walked, bold as brass, into Borgin and Burkes. Through the dirty window of the shop, he watched as Old Borgin received the other werewolf with cheerful enthusiasm, before both figures disappeared into a hidden backroom.

Remus hesitated. On one hand, he wasn’t actually going about Order business just then. That, and he was still feeling fairly exhausted after his run-in with the werewolves of Northern Ireland…

On the other hand, Moody's repetitious voice refused to shut up in his head.

_Constant vigilance!_

Peering down at his watch - the one Lily had given him for his seventeenth birthday - Remus saw to his disappointment that he had a good few hours before sundown finally arrived...that is, before _Deals and Steals_ closed for the day.

This meant that he didn't actually have any excuse to leave this matter alone.

Irritated at his nagging sense of duty, Remus checked his surroundings carefully. Satisfied that no one was watching, he took a step back…

…and leapt onto the rooftop of the building he was standing beside.

Still-healing bruises screamed in protest as he landed heavily upon a set of crumbling shingles. Ignoring the pain, Remus began loping from roof to roof.

His final jump was conducted with finesse and grace. Practically flowing through the air like a massive predator - which admittedly, he rather was - Remus landed softly on the tiles of Borgin and Burkes. For a second, he stayed very still, and waited to see if Greyback might have noticed that there was an intruder on the roof.

When nobody apparated onto the rooftop, or emerged from the entrance of the shop screaming literal curses, he allowed himself to resume breathing.

Crouching low, he strained to hear the goings-on underneath his feet.

"...this it? Looks a bit small," Greyback’s surprised voice drifted towards him.

The old wolf’s words were followed by the sound of shifting furniture.

"Don't be fooled. The Vanishing Cabinet is bigger on the inside," Borgin assured.

"That Malfoy boy better hurry up his tasks," Greyback grumbled. "Our Lord's not known for his patience,”

"In all fairness," Borgin answered, "You have to admit that it's hardly fair to pin this mission on a boy his age...little shit though he is,”

"War isn't fair," Greyback grunted. There was an odd note in his voice which startled Remus. Fenrir Greyback was expressing _regret_. "The Enemy's got a boy too, fighting their battles,”

"Strange world we live in," Borgin sighed. "When children are sent to fight the vendettas of old men,”

"Aye," Greyback said. "But that's always been the way of it, Muggle or wizard…"

He shouldn't empathize with Greyback, Remus knew. The werewolf had done terrible things to many people. Hell, his own life was more than ruined because of that old villain.

"In the end it doesn't matter what should be. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, that Weasley boy...they're not children. They’re soldiers, and they will be treated as such," Greyback concluded.

Upon hearing that callous pronouncement, Remus ironically felt much better. This was the heartless bastard he knew and hated; this man, he knew how to handle.

"Well, if it's an update you want, then know that we're closing in on a solution," the shop's proprietor said after a moment. "You can tell your Lord it'll only probably be a few more weeks. Days even, before everything’s ready,”

"You better be telling the truth," Greyback warned. "I like you Borgin, but I'm afraid…"

"Yes," the other man said shortly. "We all are. Draco Malfoy thinks his threats frighten me, but it’s not him I fear…it’s the shadow behind him that terrifies me,”

"You were always smarter than you looked,"

"I haven't had my lunch. Would you care to join me for a bite?" Borgin asked. "I was thinking we could try that new pub that's just opened up on the other side of the wall. I'm getting right tired of the Leaky if you want the truth,”

"If you have a job for me, you could just come right out and say it," Greyback chuckled.

"I _do_ have a job for you, but that doesn’t mean I’m not hungry," Borgin sighed, sounding vaguely aggrieved. “Look mate, do you want lunch or not?”

“Fine...but..."

Footsteps could be heard tapping their way towards the front of the small shop. Down in the street, Remus listened as Borgin and Greyback stepped out onto the cobbled pavement. The shop's proprietor cast a simple locking ward, as Greyback wittered on about some Muggle movie he'd recently watched.

"...disgrace is what it is. Batman doesn't have bloody nipples on his suit,”

"I don't like those types of films myself," Borgin sniffed haughtily. "I prefer European cinema,”

"Of course you would, you pretentious bastard. Next you’re going to tell me how German filmmakers are severely underrated,”

Doing his best to stop empathizing with Greyback, Remus waited until he knew for sure that the two men were gone, before he jumped into the narrow back street leading up to the hidden entrance of Borgin and Burkes.

Staring at the shabby wooden door, Remus wondered if perhaps there were stronger wards in place, than what Borgin had placed out front at his main entrance. Raising his wand, he cast a simple, wordless opening charm, and marvelled as the door swung open.

Stepping into the shop, he shut the door behind him.

Any other wizard or witch would have been immediately overwhelmed by the all encompassing darkness of the windowless room Remus found himself standing in.

Not him however. Confidently, Remus's sharp eyes searched the shop, seeking the Vanishing Cabinet the other wizards had been discussing.

Spying a massive piece of furniture tucked into a corner that looked as ominous as it did impressive, Remus crossed the room and tossed open its heavy doors.

For a split second, he froze as he contemplated his next move. Then, raising his wand, he stepped in to inspect the inky confines of the cabinet.

Had the wizard only paid closer attention, he might have spotted some rather interesting runic swirls carved into the surface of the cupboard's doors. He might have spotted an intricately carved tree, the tops of which reached heaven, the roots of which touched hell…

Softly, the wooden doors sealed behind him...and this time...this time, even his lupine senses could not help Remus. Outside, the carved tree glowed in the darkness for a brief moment, before it dimmed back into nothing.

In the empty shop, a bird chirped sadly from the confines of a far narrower cupboard on the other side of the room.

***

Remus groped blindly in the lightless space, trying to understand what it was which made this cupboard so special. He had never been in a Vanishing Cupboard before, though he had heard of them.

Perhaps he was already vanished, he considered. Then, in alarm, he realized…

_Perhaps he was already vanished._

Sucking in a deep breath, Remus cursed his carelessness as he wondered where he _actually_ was. What if in stepping into the cupboard, he had been transported some place else immediately and entirely?

_Sweet Merlin, what if he was in the parlour of the Dark Lord himself?_

Summoning his Gryffindor courage, Remus turned towards where he thought the door had been. Slamming his palms against the sanded wooden surface…

…he tumbled back out into the dim interior of Borgin and Burkes.

Grateful that no one had witnessed his embarrassing show of unadulterated panic, Remus steadied his breathing and reminded himself that he was, in actuality, a big bad werewolf.

Turning his scornful gaze back on the cupboard, he smirked triumphantly. Whatever Voldemort's followers were doing, they weren't actually successful, that much was obvious.

Nonetheless, deciding that he shouldn’t take any chances, Remus raised his casting hand with every intention of destroying the artifact…only to find himself hesitating at the very last.

Truly, the cupboard was a lovely thing. Judging from its beautiful etchings, the artwork on it must have taken some artisan ages and ages to carve…

Almost regretfully, Remus twitched his wand anyway, and whispered, " _Reducto_ ,"

The piece of furniture collapsed into shards of kindling.

Satisfied, the man hurried towards the back entrance, and lifted its metal latch. Stepping out into the narrow, damp walkway, Remus considered warding the door behind him...

In the end, deciding he could care less if the shop ended up getting picked clean by thieves, Remus picked up his pace and hurried towards the main thoroughfare of Knockturn Alley.

***

In the shop, a soft blue light glowed from the pile of splinters Remus had left behind.

A few seconds later, the cupboard stood, whole and undamaged.

Silently, it waited.

***

The air had grown far colder since his sojourn into Borgin and Burkes, but that was the least of Remus's problems.

 _Deals and Steals_ wasn't open.

To be precise, _Deals and Steals_ had been replaced with a stupid dress shop selling some fairly hideous outfits in a horrible array of colours.

 _Miss. Magical_ , it was called.

The only thing _magical_ about the one piece jumpsuits on display at the window, Remus thought in disgust, was how they transported people straight back to the 1970s. All around him, giggling young witches were streaming in and out of the shop…

…which seemed a faintly odd sight in Knockturn Alley…

Shaking his head in despair, Remus tugged at his scarf once again, and stalked away. He needed a drink, and he needed one _now_. Considering he wasn't buying any potion for the month, he now had a surplus in his budget…spending his money on some good whiskey for a change seemed like a brilliant plan.

All along his route towards the Leaky, Remus came to the slow and unsettling realization that there were quite a few shoppers wandering about Knockturn Alley, weaving in and out of different businesses.

They weren’t the usual brand of shoppers either, who looked shady and suspicious, because they usually _were_ shady and suspicious…

No. There seemed to be an inordinate amount of happy wizards and witches laughing gaily and chatting happily as they explored the various businesses lining the street. Overhead, streetlights began to twinkle on, as sunset approached much faster than he appreciated.

 _Electric_ streetlights, he noted with no small measure of shock.

Perhaps Tonks was right. Perhaps he needed to get out more, to partake in the world. Clearly, Knockturn Alley was undergoing some sort of renaissance, which he had been missing up until now…

Something green and sparkling caught his eye. Staring at a Christmas Tree in a shop window, Remus had to convince himself he wasn't in fact, hallucinating. First of all, Knockturn Alley didn’t _do_ Christmas decorations. Second, it was bloody _May_ …

Then again, only the most depraved of human souls would leave their tree up long past Christmas, right on into spring…and where else but Knockturn Alley could one find such degenerate souls?

Deciding he was too fucking tired to give a damn, Remus dropped his gaze and hurried onwards to the pub. At the door leading into the Leaky Cauldron, he heaved a sigh of relief as he pushed his way into the establishment. Making a beeline for the bar, he opened his mouth to hail the barman's attention.

That was when someone gasped aloud from right beside him.

Scowling, he twitched his gaze to the right…and found himself peering into a familiar set of dark eyes, and a head full of wild, chestnut curls.

"Hermione?" he blurted out. "Wait, shouldn't you be up at the castle? Are you…bloody hell, are you drinking _whiskey_?”

It was only as he finished his rapid-fire line of questions, that he realized something was very wrong. The woman - and it was definitely a _woman_ \- seated in front of him wasn't Hermione Granger. At least, not the one he knew.

"This is impossible," she hissed, reaching for her wand. From her delayed movements, Remus could see that the glass in front of her was unlikely to have been her first drink of the night. "You're dead. You've been dead for fucking decades!”

"I assure you, I’m very much…” he stopped. Shakily, he asked, “ _Hermione_?”

"Don't you _dare_ say my name," she rose to her feet. "Who the hell do you think you…"

"Granger," someone barked. "If you're going to start another brawl, I'm going to have to ask you to leave,”

 _Fuck fuck fucketty fuck_ , Remus thought in shocked terror as he noted the lines on her face and the faint grey streaks in her hair.

Wildly, he thought of Knockturn Alley. He thought of the cabinet….the one he left in smithereens on the floor of _Borgin and Burkes_.

“ _Merlin’s balls_ ,” he swore aloud. All he had wanted was some _goddamned_ Wolfsbane Potion.

"But..." Hermione protested hotly as a barman Remus didn’t recognize vaulted smoothly across the counter. The other wizard began to manhandle the drunk woman towards the front door.

"Hey," Remus said instinctively. To his increased annoyance, nobody paid him any mind. Louder, he repeated, “ _Hey!_ Stop that, she's just…she's...she's just…a little drunk,”

“She was past ‘a little drunk’ three hours ago,” the barman sneered. “She’s bloody pissed out of her mind is what,”

"Yeah you know what, _fuck_ you," Remus growled as he moved to shove the man aside.

“You think so? Well then you can get the hell out too," the man whipped out his wand. With a quick wave, Remus's world went grey.

Suddenly, Remus found himself standing outside the pub, ankle deep in a puddle of something disgusting.

 _So that was how the Leaky got rid of unwanted customers_ , he thought dazedly.

By his side, Hermione wobbled and began to fall. Automatically, Remus rushed forwards and caught her before she could touch the dirty ground.

“Shit,” her eyes were wide. “Shitshitshit…”

“It’s alright,” he said lamely, for want of anything else to say.

“You can’t…you’re…”

Hermione was staring at him like she was seeing a ghost. Casting his mind back to what she had said back inside the Leaky Cauldron, Remus supposed that to her, she really was.

Seeing a ghost, that is.

“I’m me,” he promised, hoisting her back to her feet.

“Remus?” she whispered, reaching up to touch his face. Tears gathered at the edges of her eyes, and it was all he could do not to run away.

“Yeah,” he said thickly, keeping an arm around her slender waist.

Squeezing her eyes shut she grabbed ahold of his upper arm and sank against him.

“Hold tight,” she whispered.

Before he could ask what the hell she meant by _that_ , he felt the beginnings of apparition as it took ahold of his person.

Too stunned to protest, Remus did as he was told.

***

When the world came back, the first thing Remus noticed wasn’t the sparsely furnished flat, or the way it smelled faintly of mould, or even the fact that there were several empty bottles lining the window sill.

All he could focus on, was the smell of blood - Hermione’s blood.

The woman was bleeding copiously from a wound somewhere on her person; she had obviously splinched herself, trying to get them away from the pub.

“You can’t apparate while drunk,” he admonished severely. “Didn’t anyone teach you that? You could have killed yourself…”

“Good,” she said as she pulled away from him.

“Good?” Remus repeated in disbelief.

Before he could stop her, Hermione was ripping off her coat and then her scarf and finally, her thick sweater.

The man’s first instinct was to turn away, to allow the woman some privacy as she fixed her wounds up.

But.

His eyes caught sight of the scar - the angry red one that curved from one side of her neck to the other.

Stumbling backwards, he fell into an armchair.

“ _Episkey_ ,” she murmured, pointing her wand at her too-bony ribs. There were other scars on her casting arm, lines that looked like they made up a word…a horrible word at that. Small, white lines peppered her back, as if someone had sliced a blade into her skin over and then over again.

“Hermione,” he rasped, finding his voice. “Hermione…what…”

“Sorry Professor,” she shrugged. “I wanted to fix my wound before I bled out,”

“Call me Remus,” the werewolf said automatically. “And that wasn’t what I bloody meant,”

Staggering towards a desk in the middle of the room, Hermione reached for a half-filled bottle of Ogden’s Old.

“Haven’t you had enough?” he asked sharply, regaining his senses. Rising to his feet, he stalked towards his former student and snatched the bottle from her hands.

“Shouldn’t you be _dead_?” she fired back.

Shirtless, emaciated and covered in drying blood though she was - and drunk to boot - the witch was a force to be reckoned with, Remus realized.

“Last time I checked, no,” his voice softened. “But I have a sneaking suspicion that’s exactly my current problem…that is, time itself,”

Understanding filtered into her dark eyes.

“Shit,” she muttered. “That’s…but how? Time-turners can take you back not…not forwards…and no working ones even exist anymore. That I know of anyway,”

“It’s a long story,” Remus sighed. “Perhaps you ought to get yourself cleaned up. And er…dressed. Then we can talk,”

Peering up at him, something strange flickered in Hermione’s expressive eyes.

“Oh Remus…” she sighed and rubbed at her forehead. “What must you think of me?”

“You’re Hermione,” he said honestly. With a faint grin he didn’t feel, he added, “You’re the smartest witch of your age…which is what, by the way?”

“That’s a bit rude,” she smiled as she conjured a shirt over herself. “You can’t just ask a woman her age like that,”

“Seriously,” he insisted.

“Thirty-nine,” she smiled. “And you?”

“Thirty…thirty-six,” he stuttered.

In this time, Hermione was his _senior_. Not by much, but there it was.

“Oh,” the woman breathed in surprise as she obviously drew the same conclusions. “Oh. Well…that’s…”

Without warning, her eyes rolled up in her head. Diving forwards, Remus caught her slight body once more, before she could hit the ground and strike her head.

“Hermione Jean Granger,” he sighed. The woman had passed out, either from the stress of his appearance, the blood she had lost…or the liquor she had sucked down.

Realizing he could no sooner leave her as she was, than to pledge his undying allegiance to the Dark Lord - if that tosser was still around anyway - Remus lifted her into his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so...was thinking about the time travel trope, and how there are a billion writers better than me at this theme.
> 
> So I thought I'd mess around and subvert some themes - not just the time travel theme, but the characterizations of damaged characters.. Totally understand if this isn't everyone's cup of tea.


	3. Right now, I'm Feeling Like An Astronaut

The chair was uncomfortable, and the room was cold. Even though her small hearth was filled with blazing flames, Hermione’s flat was frigid and frankly, lifeless.

Pacing her small living room, Remus did his best to find clues that would tell him how this future came to be.

That is, a future where Knockturn Alley was a lively, shopping destination for young people, but Hermione Granger’s life was reduced to nothing more than an empty _shell_.

On her desk, other than her half-drunk bottle of liquour, there were small stacks of documents and files scattered about, filled with names he didn’t recognize, and photos of many strangers. Most of the photos were Muggle photos at that.

There were two carefully placed picture frames spelled to stay in place at the right corner desk - he found out they were thusly charmed, because when he tried to lift them, he didn’t get very far at all. Those were the only magical photos in sight.

Bending down, he studied the first picture and grinned tiredly when he understood that he was gazing upon an adult Harry, and a redhead who could only be Ginny Weasley. They were surrounded by a brood of children…

…among which was a young boy, with such familiar grey eyes…and blue hair.

The family looked ridiculously happy, and Remus found himself glad to know that in this new life, James’s son had a family to call his own.

Even though _he_ , apparently, had been dead for over twenty years.

The second picture contained two children, alongside an older, portlier Ron Weasley, and a grinning Hermione Granger. Within the moving image, the laughing woman wore a yellow summer dress, and she was tossing her rampant curls against an unfelt breeze.

Tracing his fingertips over the shifting faces within the rose-gold frame, Remus could see that the children were both perfect combinations of their parents. The boy owned his father’s freckles and his mother’s thoughtful expression. The girl inherited Hermione’s bright, clever eyes, and her Dad’s mischievous smirk.

Something sour rose in Remus’s throat as he contemplated Ron and her children; half-a-hundred questions raced through his thoughts as his gaze settled on Hermione’s younger face.

For instance, what had transformed Hermione from a smiling, healthy young woman, into a lonely, drunk wreck who apparently, started bar brawls in the middle of the Leaky?

And - where the hell was _Harry_? Surely he couldn’t be sitting somewhere, comfortable in the notion that his best friend was spiralling away into nothing?

The idea that no one cared for Hermione seemed ludicrous. As a girl, she had cared so much for everyone and everything…to have her seem so abandoned seem unbelievable at best, and unconscionable at worst.

“Please…” her cracked voice drifted softly towards him from the darkness of her bedroom. “Please…”

“Hermione?” he called tentatively.

“Please stop…I swear, I’ll do anything…” she begged. “Just please stop hurting him…”

Swallowing hard, his feet began to move of their own accord.

“Ron…”

Slipping past the threshold of her room, Remus felt horribly torn. Something told him he had no business being here, no business playing witness to whatever horror Hermione was re-living.

But - the moment he took in the sight of Hermione curled up on her bed and shaking like a leaf, all his internal arguments faded away. Crossing the distance between them, he collapsed beside her narrow bed. Gingerly, he touched her clammy forehead.

Underneath the shirt she was wearing, Remus could see the shape of her ribs as they poked through the thin, white material.

“It’s alright,” he whispered softly. “It’s alright, you’re safe. I promise, you’re safe…”

Brown eyes fluttered open and peered dazedly at him.

“Remus,” she breathed. “I’m still dreaming…”

“No,” he shook his head vehemently. “No you’re not dreaming. I’m here, this is real…”

“It’s a good dream,” she assured as she reached for his trembling hand. “It’s a good dream, I promise you…”

Closing her eyes, her breathing evened out after a while, though her fingers remained curled around his own.

Unwilling to leave her to the mercy of her demons, Remus rested his face against her pillow, right beside her head. The rest of his body remained uncomfortably twisted on the ground.

Eventually, still holding her hand, he too fell into a restless slumber.

***

He awoke to the sound of someone pounding at the front door. Blinking himself awake, Remus found his fingers still loosely entwined within Hermione’s own.

Gently disengaging himself from the sleeping woman, Remus stifled a yawn as he ambled out into the living room. For a second, he wondered at the wisdom of opening the door, before he reminded himself that really, that was a question he should have been asking the day before, when he so stupidly walked into an enchanted cupboard.

Flinging open the entrance, he glared at the person on the other side who had yet to cease her incessant knocking.

“I’m looking for Hermione Granger,” a blonde woman in her fifties said. “You don’t look like you could be a Hermione Granger,”

“Well spotted,” Remus agreed tersely. “That’s not a daft thing to say at all,”

“Is she here?” the stranger demanded, clutching at her expensive purse.

“Yes, she is,” Hermione’s sleep-roughened voice called.

Turning around, Remus’s grey eyes widened as his former student pulled on a pair of jeans over her bare legs and barely covered bottom…in plain sight of both him _and_ a complete stranger.

Gulping, he tried not to dwell on the very salient fact that Hermione was absolutely no longer a child.

“Who are you, and what can I do for you?” the witch asked curtly.

Brushing past the werewolf, the older woman sniffed disapprovingly at what she was seeing. And smelling.

“You may call me Mrs. Fitz,” the Muggle woman - for she was definitely Muggle - stated. “I would like you to follow my husband. I believe he’s cheating on me,”

“Oh?” Hermione stretched her arms languorously over her head as she plopped down in her chair behind her desk. In doing so, her shirt lifted slightly, revealing a flat stomach, and a swath of skin…

Flushing like a hormonal teenager, Remus averted his gaze and forced his breathing to even out.

“Insolent,” the older woman clucked her tongue. “You young people…”

Hermione said flatly. “I’m sorry you feel that way. Feel free to leave,”

“No please,” Mrs. Fitz’s tone turned contrite. “All the forums on Reddit says you’re the best investigator money can buy,”

“They’re probably right,” the witch said without a trace of humility present in her manner.

Sleep mussed as she was, Hermione somehow managed to carry herself like a bloody Queen, the werewolf thought as he moved to seat himself in her armchair.

Instinct told him Mrs. Fitz wouldn’t be staying long enough to make herself comfortable. Or at least, as comfortable as any visitor could, in this barren desolation of a flat.

“Money. I can pay you. I’ve got more money than most of your clients, I promise you,” Mrs. Fitz said hurriedly.

“I wouldn’t bet a penny on that theory Mrs. Fitz,” Hermione sounded bored. “Because you’d probably lose,”

Leaning back in his seat, Remus tried his damndest not to start laughing hysterically at the ridiculous farce playing out before his eyes.

“Why do you think your husband is sleeping with someone else?” Hermione asked after a moment, as she tilted her head to one side.

“I found some pictures on his phone of another woman. Selfies…nudes I suppose. There’s all these text messages…”

“Did you _break_ into your spouses’s phone?” Hermione demanded.

Remus had no idea what any of this meant. _Selfies_? What the hell were they talking about?

“No,” Mrs. Fitz flushed guiltily.

 _That_ look Remus understood. Unable to help himself, he blurted out, “She’s lying,”

“I’m sorry but _who_ are you?” Mrs. Fitz sputtered indignantly in his direction.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but this man here is my assistant,” Hermione swung her feet onto her desk and clasped her hands behind her head. “Mrs. Fitz, my schedule is a bit full at the moment. I’m afraid I cannot help you,”

“But…” the woman protested. “I have…”

“Money, yes, I know. You mentioned,” Hermione nodded. “But what confuses me is…you already know your husband is sleeping with someone else. You’ve seen proof. Why you need me to follow him? Unless of course, you get off on someone _narrating_ to you, all the ways your husband fucks this other girl…”

Sinking his face into his hands, Remus swallowed a helpless chortle.

“Regardless. What you _don’t_ have is manners. You barged into my home uninvited, you insulted my colleague, and you waved money around as if that meant anything,” Hermione listed. “Then there’s the thing about you invading your husband’s privacy…which frankly, offends my personal sensibilities. Mrs. Fitz, please if you would kindly show yourself out, that would be greatly appreciated,”

Flushing in fury, Mrs. Fitz turned to leave. “I’ll be posting a review of you online. I swear, I will _ruin_ you…”

“Mrs. Fitz, read those forums carefully. If you honestly think my _haters_ have cost me any business, then you’re even stupider than you look. By the way, does _everything_ you own need to be Gucci? Have you considered, I don’t know, Ted Baker? Marc Jacobs? Another brand that’s not so terribly fucking _tacky_?”

Storming out, the woman slammed the door with enough ferocity, a few books tumbled out of Hermione’s bookshelves.

“What’s a selfie?” Remus asked into the ensuing silence.

Pinching her forehead, Hermione began to laugh. A moment later, he joined her.

***

They walked through the park, munching on sandwiches and sipping on poorly brewed tea. The thin spring jacket he had been wearing had been enhanced with warming charms to guard against the cutting winds of a fast approaching winter.

He had arrived in the middle of November 2018, it seemed.

Every time Remus forgot he was now in the twenty-first century, something else came along and reminded him that he was no longer in the nineties.

In this time, people were obsessed with taking photographs on their mobile phones. In fact, in general, people couldn’t seem to tear their eyes off those small electronic devices…and not all of the afflicted were Muggles. A few times, he caught young wizards and witches showing off minor spells for the sake of these so-called ‘selfies’…

“It’s called a smart phone,” Hermione explained as they watched a random passerby break out into helpless laughter over something playing on a hand-held screen. “It’s…it’s fantastic to be honest,”

“What makes this phone so smart?” Remus inquired between bites.

“It’s hard to explain,” Hermione sighed. “Sometimes, it’s almost as if…how do I put this? It’s _almost_ as if the Muggles have created their own sort of magic in the past twenty years,”

“That’s ridiculous,” Remus scoffed.

Casting him a sidelong glance, Hermione reached into her pocket and drew out not her wand, but another one of those phones. Touching the black glass, the screen lit up immediately, revealing a photo of her children. It was a moving, silent image, just like a magical photograph.

The children were named Rose and Hugo, apparently. They were also both alive, healthy, and attending Hogwarts…though they would not be spending Christmas with Hermione. Ron wasn’t in _this_ picture, and Hermione seemed determined to avoid the subject of her husband, despite the gold band glittering on her finger.

Tapping a few numbers which had floated onto the screen, a lot of colourful squares appeared.

“This application holds a thousand books on this one, tiny device,” Hermione said, tapping an image that looked like a book. She swiped upwards, then tapped on another image. “This controls the lights in my flat. I could be in Tibet, and still turn off the lights in my bedroom…”

“Wait…”

“This app allows me to see what my children are posting on social media. Hogwarts now has broadband, which is… _something_ , I suppose. It’s still ten years behind the rest of the world, but at least they’re trying. Aurora Sinistra and I worked on a project five years ago to get the castle Muggle-tech-fitted…there are limitations obviously. Amazon can’t get past our wards…” Hermione shrugged. “Oh, I suppose I should explain. Social Media is this thing where…”

“Slow down,” Remus crumpled his sandwich wrapper. “Why does it feel like I’ve arrived on earth from another planet?”

“Oh,” Hermione’s eyes widened apologetically. “I suppose that’s how the world would look, to someone from the nineties,”

“You’re not going to start telling me that the Muggles have discovered transfiguration I hope?” Remus demanded almost defensively.

“No, but these days, they can _purchase_ a pillow on their phone and it’ll be delivered to their doorstep almost immediately,” Hermione explained patiently.

“That’s not the same as magic then is it? What if I want a pillow _now_?” he shook his head stubbornly. “Hermione…”

“You want to know how to get home,” she sighed. “And you want to know how we ended up bumping off good old Voldie,”

“Ah so he does get bumped off,” Remus felt a little relieved and a little silly for speaking of the Dark Lord in such frivolous terms.

“Yes Remus, we did,” she nodded with a smile. Dark circles lined her eyes, and she looked as if she were staying upright through sheer force of will…but still, Remus could see traces of the Hermione he had known, peeking out from behind what walls she had thrown up around her soul.

As she brushed her hair away, the angry red mark on her neck darted into sight.

Catching the bent of his curious gaze, Hermione reached up and cupped at her scar self-consciously.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

“It doesn’t matter…” she started. “We have to get you home. You being here, you might be able to save yourself and so many others. I know I should care about the potential risks of meddling with time and all that, but frankly, I’d rather have my friends alive, than mouldering away in history books…”

“Hermione, what happened to you?” he interrupted. “Please, I want to know,”

“The war,” she frowned. “You were there for most of it, as I seem to recall…though I suppose from your perspective, you’re still somewhere in the middle,”

“You know what I mean,”

“I really don’t,” Hermione shook her head stubbornly.

“What happened to you?” the wizard demanded with equal obstinacy. “Who hurt you? Where is Ron? Where is…”

“Stop,” she said sharply. “Just stop,”

Stunned at her tone, Remus snapped his mouth shut as their steps came to a standstill.

“What’s it to you? I mean, why _should_ you care? It’s not as if…”

“Not as if what? Not as if you’re my _friend_?” he asked churlishly.

“First of all, we were never friends. Not while you…” her voice dropped into a harsh whisper. “Not while you _lived_ ,”

“No? That’s very disappointing because I always thought we _were_ friends,” he retorted, feeling unaccountably angry at Hermione. “How foolish of me, to have believed such a thing,”

“Alright, I suppose I’m not being very fair…”

“Not really, no. I never thought you were going to grow up to become such a…” he waved his arms. “Such a _mean_ person,”

“A mean person?” Hermione repeated. Then her lips began to twitch. “Is that the best you can do?”

“Well…yes,” Remus sulked.

“Look, let’s get you sorted with this time travel business. I’ll tell you how you died even, so maybe you can avoid doing something so useless yet again…” her voice cracked as her smile faded. “Though the fact that nothing has changed since you arrived…if the timeline changed, shouldn’t everything be different? Or has it already changed do you think, and I simply didn’t notice?”

Remus squeezed his eyes shut as his head began to ache.

Something constricted in his chest as he considered that supposedly, he was going to die very soon. Although really, he supposed he shouldn’t have been _too_ surprised…it wasn’t as if there was a magical war raging, back where he had just come from…

In the present, Hermione frowned. “It’s all rather odd. I don’t remember you barging back into the past, trying to warn us…unless you _didn’t._ Remus seriously, if you go back in time, you have to try to save yourself. Promise me _that_ at the very least. Ted…”

“Hermione…” he stopped her. “Please just tell me what happened…I don’t just mean the scar. I mean…why are you out here all on your own in Muggle London? Why aren’t you with your family? Your friends? I saw the pictures, I know you still care about them…”

“You know _nothing_ Remus Lupin,” she said flatly.

“Because you won’t tell me anything _real_ ,” Remus bit out. “All you keep going on about, is your _stupid_ iPhone X - which is _such_ a dumb name by the way,”

Casting him a scathing glare, Hermione pursed her lips in open aggravation.

After a moment, they resumed their walk, “We need to get you back to my place. It simply won’t do to have a dead man walking around in the open,”

“Why, is _that_ weird in the future?” Remus quipped.

“Don’t be a smart-arse,” she admonished. “Also, please stop calling it ‘the future’. It’s the miserable ‘now’ for the rest of us. Anyway, I’ve got something else to show you that isn’t an iPhone. After you take a look at it, I promise, I’ll tell you everything you need to know,”

Still clever then, Remus thought to himself as he considered her precise wording. The witch didn’t promise to tell him what _he_ wanted to know, but only what _she_ was willing to reveal.

“Fine,” he sighed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Rebelliously, he kicked at some dirt.

“Honestly, I don’t remember you being such a child,” she shook her head.

“I remember being your _Professor_ ,” he reminded the woman. “I remember you used to be _nice_ ,”

Glaring at each other, they strode back towards her sorry home.

***

Laying on his back on his newly transfigured bed with his left arm under his head, Remus studied the Chocolate Frog Card floating in the air above him. Something like dark fascination filled him, as he observed the image of himself, fussing endlessly and eternally at his hair…

The photo he was staring at had been taken on his wedding day, apparently. The day he married Nymphadora Tonks, that is.

Leaving alone that thought for the moment - that is, that he married bloody _Tonks_ who had deluded herself into believing she was in love with him ever since Sirius passed - he read the description they had given him once again.

_“Remus John Lupin died a hero during the Battle of Hogwarts. Known to his friends as “Moony”, Lupin spent his young life as a mischievous young Gryffindor, bringing joy to his friends, classmates and teachers.”_

At this point, the werewolf snorted in derision - Severus Snape would surely disagree with that assessment of his time at Hogwarts. Minerva McGonagall too, if she was still kicking around.

_“In the early nineties, he became the DADA Professor at Hogwarts, whereupon he taught Harry Potter how to cast the Patronus charm. Both his wife and he are survived by their son, Edward Remus Lupin. In the year 2004, Hermione Granger established the Remus J. Lupin Werewolf Reform Act in his honour. Lupin will be remembered as the werewolf that brought awareness to those who have been unjustly discriminated among us.”_

Allowing the card to drift back to Hermione’s desk, Remus tried to understand if he was pleased at the fact that he had essentially become a martyr in the future, or if he was upset that he had to die at all.

After a few minutes, he came to the conclusion that his sentiments fell somewhere in the middle. While it was nice that people obviously remembered him as a good man - on a Chocolate Frog Card, no less - he rather preferred the idea of surviving.

Death was so… _final_.

Shifting on his bed in the middle of Hermione’s living room, his mind began to wander.

He supposed he ought to be worried more, about making it back to his own time. About how he was going to have to try dodging death, as Hermione had so bluntly put it. Apparently, she wasn’t as enamoured at the thought of his demise as what had been so nicely written out on that card…

Instead, he found himself thinking about the witch whose flat he was currently occupying, and who was currently nowhere to be found within the small space. The woman had gone off to work on one of her investigative cases, and she had left him certain specific instructions.

“Don’t leave the flat until I get back,”

“Am I your prisoner now?” he asked, despite seeing the logic in her command. “By the way, you should know, I was on my way to fetch some Wolfsbane Potion for the full moon when this nonsense happened,”

In response, Hermione had grinned at him with such smugness, Remus knew immediately that the girl he had taught was still buried somewhere under her weary demeanour.

“You’re starting to smell,” she informed him lightly, shoving him an armful of transfigured clothing and a clean towel.

“When you get back, we’re going to talk…right?” he had asked worriedly.

He had not forgotten her promise.

Passing him the Chocolate Frog Card, her smile fell away as she said, “Yes. We will,”

Silently, he had watched as she departed through the front door, though this time, she made sure to leave the flat warm and comfortable for him.

Now, staring up at Hermione’s ceiling, Remus closed his eyes and tried not to think about silken chestnut curls, slender legs and a very, very pert bottom…

***

It was dark by the time Hermione stepped through the front door. The wizard had spent the afternoon pacing before the fire, growing more restless with every passing minute.

The first thing he noticed was that she reeked of alcohol. The second, was that she was bleeding again. Her pale sweater was stained with blood, from where she had splinched herself the day before.

“Tell me,” he growled as he hurried towards her. “That you didn’t just apparate while sloshed out of your mind. _Again_ , that is,”

“What’s it to you?” she repeated her question from earlier as she stumbled against him.

Not deigning to give her an answer, Remus dragged her over to his temporary bed.

“I’m not drunk,” she sighed. “I stopped for a couple of pints on my way, but I’m not drunk. My wound from yesterday opened up on my way home is all,”

Peering into her dark eyes, the man reached for the hem of her sweater. Slowly, Hermione nodded her permission. Lifting the thick fabric, Remus hissed in displeasure as he caught sight of the ugly, trickling wound…alongside another old scar on the other side of her ribcage.

“I’m not a pretty sight am I?” Hermione laughed good-naturedly, though it was clear that it literally pained her to do such a thing. Evidently, she seemed quite comfortable with the marks on her body.

“You should take a look under my clothes sometime, maybe then you’ll know what ‘not-pretty’ means,” Remus said without thinking as he raised his wand with every intention of fixing her seeping injury.

“Why, Professor Lupin, are you trying to seduce me?” the woman inquired playfully.

Freezing, Remus tried desperately to remember what words meant. Pointing his wand, silently, he cast the few healing spells he knew, and watched as her wound healed - properly and fully this time.

“If I were trying to seduce you, you would know it,” he croaked at last, in what had to be the unsexiest voice in the universe.

“Oh?” he heard the smirk on her voice.

_Remus Lupin, you blithering idiot._

“Quite,” he choked out.

Pulling her top down, Hermione reached out and ruffled his hair affectionately like he was a little boy. “Thank you,”

“Did you…” he floundered as he rose to his feet. His mouth had grown so dry, he was surprised he could even make phrases. “How was…”

“Cheating husband got caught in the act,” Hermione nodded. “I got paid, I got spat upon. All in a day’s work and all that rot,”

“ _Spat_ upon,” he stared dumbly at her. “Not…not _really_ of course…”

“These people. They say they want the truth, but when I give it to them, they hate me. So yes…really…” Hermione shook her head as she shrugged off her baggy leather coat. Reaching into one of her pockets, she drew out a small package. “Take this tomorrow…tomorrow’s the full moon,”

“What is it?” he asked as he took the box from her.

“It’s a treatment for lycanthropy. It doesn’t require seven days of dosing however…”

“Is it some sort of Wolfsbane Potion replacement that requires one dose instead of seven?” Remus asked curiously.

“Something like that, yes,” Hermione nodded.

“Should we…should we think about having some dinner?” he asked lamely.

Forcefully, he tamped away his growing urge to sweep the curls off her face, so he could press a kiss to her sweet, full lips…

 _Get ahold of yourself man, she’s twenty-years younger_ …Remus’s brain sputtered. _Nope. She’s three years older than you._

With renewed interest, he allowed his gaze to linger on her lovely mouth.

“Yes but…” Hermione sighed, looking down at her hands. “I owe you a conversation,”

“Yes. You do,” he agreed. “Very much so,”

“First of all, from everything you’ve told me, you’ve destroyed what was probably the only means for you to get home…or at least, to get out of this time,” Hermione started, her voice becoming clipped and professional. “So that method’s obviously out,”

“Maybe there’s another one of those time-cupboards out there,” Remus pondered.

“Do you even remember what the etchings you said you saw _were_?” Hermione questioned.

“No,” he said shamefacedly. “I probably should’ve taken better note,”

“Yes Remus, you really should have,” she sounded like a disappointed school teacher; in that moment, bloody sweater aside, she even _looked_ like one.

 _How the tables have turned_.

“We can research time travelling cupboards of course, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how long that’s going to take. You’ll be eighty by the time I get you home,” Hermione leaned back. “Perhaps the Ministry is hiding a few functioning Time-Turners. There was a time I might have suggested we break in, to take a look for ourselves at what the government keeps hidden from the rest of us…but that time is past. I’m hardly as spry as I used to be,”

“I don’t know. From where I’m standing, you seem rather spry for a witch your age,” Remus blurted out. Turning his face away from her, he cringed towards the wall.

“My age?” she laughed again. “That’s right. I’m an old lady to you aren’t I?”

 _Not exactly_ , Remus thought as he tilted his gaze back towards her.

Surreptitiously, he admired the way her mostly still-dark hair gleamed by the light of her glowing hearth.

“Rumour has it, there are time machines that have popped up on wizarding.net…but the costs for those are high, even for someone with my monetary resources. Plus, there’s no guarantee those even work,”

Hermione’s words did not hold a single trace of boastfulness or arrogance.

“Since you’re basically implying that you’re not a pauper, why the hell do you live _here_?” he looked around. “This flat is terrible. It’s worse than some of the places _I’ve_ lived in, which is saying something. It’s drafty, it’s shabby…your neighbours fuck _extremely_ loudly, and…”

“Stop. We’re not discussing my choice in flats,” she raised a hand in annoyance. “Back to the problem at hand…”

“The problem at hand?” Remus’s lips twitched. “Hermione, what I’m taking away from this discussion, is that you’re actually at a complete loss, but you can’t find the right words to admit to such a thing,”

“When you put it that way,” she made a face at him. “I suppose…yes. You are correct. I don’t… _know_ ,”

Gazing at her irritated expression, a rush of old, familiar fondness flooded Remus’s veins. This was the Hermione he knew, who hated - absolutely hated - being stymied by anything..

“Clearly, this timeline hasn’t changed, and that Chocolate Frog Card still exists. Obviously, sometime in the past, I still get myself stupidly offed,” he said flippantly. “Let’s talk about the other stuff then, and see if I can’t try to change it all anyway, if… _when_ I get back,”

The witch shifted uncomfortably. “Right. Anyway, let’s see…at the end of our sixth year…”

***

In the night, Remus slumbered fitfully. His dreams were filled with images of battles he had never fought, of people he loved dying…

He dreamed of Tonks, pleading with him to love her even as he transformed into a monstrous beast…before his eyes, her features shifted, and her hair lengthened…

He dreamed of a cackling Bellatrix carving letters into Hermione’s arms…he heard her crying, and moaning…

Grey eyes snapped open, interrupting his nightmares, but the sobbing didn’t stop.

Swinging his legs over the side of his makeshift bed, Remus tried to tell himself that he ought to leave things alone. Hermione's crying would pass, and he ought to give her the space she obviously craved.

As another choked whimper escaped her lips, the man shuffled to his feet.

She was saying something, repeating it over and over.

"Hermione," he called softly.

Stepping back into her room, he watched as she flopped to her side and whispered that word again.

"Ron," she cried softly. "Ron, please..."

Returning to his spot by the side of her bed, dreadful comprehension began at last to sink into his consciousness. Reaching for her hand, he looked around her bedroom, which was barer than a prison cell. Peering out into her living room, the man caught sight of the back of the rose-gold picture frame, perched at the corner of her desk.

"Ron," she whispered again as her grasp on him tightened.

Pressing his lips to her knuckles, Remus finally understood why Hermione wasn't with her husband. Why she still wore a ring even though she was clearly unmarried.

How many nights, he wondered, had he spent tossing alone in his own, cold bed, crying for people who would never again answer him?

"Hermione," he shook her slightly, wanting nothing more than to draw her from what hell she was reliving. "Hermione, wake up,"

"Ron?" she murmured as she woke up.

Disappointment blossomed in the woman's eyes as she understood who it was she was really gazing upon. In his entire life, Remus never thought for a moment that he would ever want so badly to be Ronald Bilious Weasley.

"I'm sorry," she drew her hand from his as she began to sit up. "Did I..."

"No," he shook his head, denying to himself how much he already missed the warmth of her touch. "I was getting a glass of water, when I heard you crying out. I thought maybe you had started bleeding again,"

Wearing an expression like she knew he was lying, she folded her knees towards her chest.

"I think I would like to work on some of my cases," she sighed. "Why don't you sleep in here? You could shut the door and..."

"I don't think I'm able to sleep either," Remus confessed. "Bad dreams you see, although I've had those my whole life"

They were at an impasse.

Left to her own devices, the woman would pour herself yet another large drink, and that knowledge didn't sit well with him. If Remus had any regrets in this life, one of them involved the fact that he had stood by and watched as Sirius drank himself into spiralling despair in his final days, while he himself had done nothing more than to offer his friend an occasional admonishment.

"Why don't I help you? With your work that is…I really ought to make myself useful, since I'm living off your charity at the moment," he suggested.

"Investigative work?" Hermione cracked a rusty smile. "It's lurid, I warn you,”

"I like lurid," Remus barked a laugh. "Remind me to tell you about the time Sirius and I tried to write a romance novel..."

Hermione's grin widened as she climbed out of bed. "I'm afraid to ask,"

"You should be. There were numerous passages about heaving bosoms,” he explained as he followed her out of her room. “I could make us some tea,”

"Good luck finding any," Hermione yawned. “Though…I think Ginny might have left some in my kitchen, the last time she was over..."

***

Remus's eyes snapped open abruptly sometime around the noon hour.

It wasn't anything in particular that had stirred him; at least, not anything in the waking world. In his dreams, he had been running on all fours, chasing after someone or something that simply refused to let him get too close.

Just as he had been about to land a large paw on the creature, which turned out to be a beautiful otter, he found himself pitching over a tree root on the forest floor…and straight on into the waking world.

Blinking owlishly, he felt an unfamiliar weight resting against him. The sensation wasn't unpleasant. It was simply unfamiliar.

Gazing down the length of his body, his eyes widened as he took in the sight of Hermione resting within the curve of his arm. In her hands, she still maintained a loose grip on that machine she called a MacBook.

Not wanting to see it smash to the ground, carefully, Remus plucked the computer from her limp fingers. Leaning backwards, he set it carefully upon her desk.

Sometime in the night, they had transfigured his temporary bed into a sofa. Now, upon the twice-transfigured piece of furniture, the both of them reclined as one in a tangled set of limbs. The woman grunted and shifted against him, but she did not wake. Instead, she burrowed her face deeper into the juncture between his chest and his arm.

Holding his breath without realizing he was doing any such thing, Remus studied Hermione’s peaceful profile. Gray eyes followed the small smattering of lines by her eyes and mouth, and traced the occasional streaks of silver flashing within the mass of her curls…

Not stopping to think too deeply upon his actions, he raised one hand and ran his knuckles reverently across the woman’s soft cheek.

Perhaps it was his imagination, but Hermione seemed to lean into his touch. Her gentle movements caused her scent to swirl lazily through the air and when next he breathed, all Remus could taste was wild honey and magic.

Refusing to move out of fear that he might break this strange spell, Remus began to wonder if returning to his own time was truly what he wanted...

Or if perhaps, the future held better promise than the past ever did.


	4. Moonlight hanging above me Haunting its way

"We should really work on getting you back to the nineties," Hermione said as she made them a pot of coffee.

From the refrigerator, she drew out a frozen loaf of bread, which she proceeded to slice and then toast with her wand.

"How would you propose we start?" Remus asked, trying not to stare at the movement of her hands.

"Flourish and Blott's I suppose," she shrugged. "We could buy some books,"

"It's the full moon tonight," he reminded her. "The sun sets earlier in November,"

"Take your potion," she said without looking at him.

Almost hesitantly, Remus reached for the small package on her desk. Drawing out the small vial of purple liquid from within, he unstoppered the glass container.

“Are you sure this isn’t going to kill me?”

“No,” she deadpanned.

Taking a deep breath, the werewolf swallowed the shimmering concoction.

The mixture tasted viler that Wolfsbane Potion, that was for sure. Retching slightly in his seat, Remus glared at Hermione who began giggling at his expense. Levitating him a plate of toast, she handed him a cup of heavily sweetened tea.

"You could have warned me," he grumbled as he took a sip.

"What would be the fun in that?" she moved to sit behind her desk. "Come on, eat up. I slaved over that toast for fucking hours,”

"What should I do when the sun sets?" Remus wondered. Taking a bite of almost-burnt bread, he said with his mouth full, "I don't want to endanger you..."

"I've got a plan," Hermione's smile grew. Before his eyes, she shed years off her careworn visage; her eyes twinkled with secret mischief.

“I suppose you do at that…” he paused. “Shouldn’t you be working on your cases? You know, rather than helping a lost time traveller and all that…”

“They’ll keep,” she waved dismissively at her laptop and her papers. “If I don’t succeed at sending you home today, maybe you can continue helping me out with some of them,”

“Am I to be your new house elf?” he smirked, and licked stray crumbs off of his thumb.

“Remus John Lupin, as long as you work with me, I will split my earnings,” Hermione’s dark eyes drifted towards his mouth. “I am nothing if not fair,”

“Oh but I believe you,” he quirked a mischievous half-grin at her.

 _Jesus but she was attractive_ , he thought for the tenth time in the same hour. Idly, the man tried to remember why it was he needed to feel bad in the first place for finding Hermione Granger attractive. It wasn’t as if she was his student any longer…

Then, rather dispiritedly, he remembered - _werewolf_.

Wiping the smile from his face, Remus finished his food.

***

They arrived back at her flat shortly after sunset. In short order, Hermione lifted her glamour from his face and returned him his true visage.

Moonrise was fast approaching…but there was something not quite right. Colours seemed dulled, shadows seemed darker, and all surrounding smells had become strangely muted. The world was a blurry place, and the wolf felt as if he were stumbling through a padded cell.

“You look a bit confused,” Hermione observed as she set down a stack of books they had only just purchased on the subject of time travel. Well, _she_ had just purchased. The witch had refused to accept his currency, even though his notes were still legal tender.

“I need to sit down,” he muttered, as he shed his coat.

“Give me that,” she said bossily as she snatched a bag of Indian takeout from his hand. Wandlessly, she floated his discarded coat towards a hook behind her front door.

“Hermione, I’m going to transform in a minute. What’s your plan exactly?” he demanded nervously.

_There was something wrong._

“Wait a minute and I’ll tell you,” his companion sounded calm as she summoned plates and cutlery from her cupboards.

_There was something wrong._

“This isn’t funny! Hermione please, I don’t want to…” Remus growled as horror began to rise in his belly.

Outside the window, the last bits of daylight faded to nothing. Overhead, the twilight sky was dark for all of a moment, before steadily, it became filled with a silver light.

“Moonrise is…” he stared out at the city. “Moonrise. It’s been happening for…Hermione, the moon’s been rising for the last two hours. How…”

“Professor…use your big words,” Hermione stated from behind him.

Pivoting slowly, the time-traveler regarded his former student with wide eyes. Grinning roguishly, she held a glass of whiskey out towards him.

Remus looked down at his hands. He looked down at his body, his extremely human body. Reaching up, he groped at his face and ran his not-paws over his not-elongated jaw.

“You knew,” he murmured, lifting his gaze towards his patient audience. “Hermione, what…”

“Drink,” she commanded, pressing the proffered tumbler into his hands. Raising a glass towards her own lips, she took a dainty sip.

Stumbling backwards, Remus collapsed at the edge of her large desk and sucked down half his glass of Bushmills. Laughing, Hermione regarded him with what appeared to be wistful affection.

“Perhaps this is just a fever dream,” she stepped in close. Lifting her hand, the witch ran her fingers lightly over his cheekbones; her touch felt as if she were trailing fire in her wake.

“I had always wondered what your reaction might have been, had you lived long enough for the discovery of _Lupine Remedium_ ,”

“What…” Remus shut his eyes as he tried to find some semblance of sanity. “How?”

“A few years after the war, I started doing some research into Muggle gene therapy. It’s a branch of science that concerned the use of…well… _genes_ …to treat certain conditions in the human body,” Hermione moved to sit beside him. “It wasn’t an overnight success Remus. It took me eight years to get the solution to a place with proven benefits…with the same proven effects, as you’re now experiencing…”

“Eight years,” he repeated like a half-wit.

“Eight years, yes,” she nodded. “My recipe was sold for nothing, on the condition that the manufacturers would only ever sell it to all werewolves, for the price of the ingredients plus two sickles. I’m not ashamed to say - I used my status as a war hero to push this thing through,”

“You did this,” Remus stated as he put aside his half-filled tumbler. Gazing down into Hermione’s dark eyes, breathing in the scent of wild honey and magic, he found himself quite drunk, despite the fact that he had barely touched his whiskey. “You…you found a cure for lycanthropy,”

“It’s not really a _cure_ Professor,” her smile dropped slightly. “It’s something a lycanthrope still has to drink once a month on the day of the full moon. Also, as you’ve noted…it’s ever so much more disgusting than Wolfsbane Potion,”

“Why is…” he paused and rubbed at his eyes. “Perhaps it’s only me, but…everything seems…”

“Duller? More boring? You think there’s something wrong with your vision and your senses,” she chuckled and drained her glass. “I forgot, you were infected too young to realize that not everything about your condition was necessarily a curse. God…how I had wished you had lived to see this potion,”

“I’m alive now,” he stated. “Explain. Please,”

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” the witch left her empty glass floating in mid-air. “Remus…you’re seeing the world like an uninfected human. You’re seeing the world the way the rest of us mere mortals do,”

Studying the happy glow gracing Hermione’s expression, Remus threw all caution to the wind. Without offering the woman any kind of warning, the werewolf curved his arms around her waist and spun her into the air.

The sound of Hermione’s laughter against the brightening beams of the full moon made the entire moment nothing short of heavenly. Cupping at her warm, flushed cheek with his right hand, he set her down and whispered, “Thank you,”

“I’ve already written out the recipe for you,” she told him earnestly. “It’s in your coat pocket, and it’s been charmed to always return there. You’ll find that I’ve cast a spell, to ensure its _almost_ indestructible. If it survives your journey back, you must - _must_ \- get the recipe to me, do you understand?”

In answer, Remus leaned down and pressed his mouth to her soft lips.

Behind him, Hermione’s empty glass crashed loudly to the floor and shattered into a million shards. To his unpleasant shock, the woman stiffened like a board; instead of returning his kiss, she froze. Pulling away, Remus watched as horror made its disturbing way, across his companion’s lovely features.

“No,” she muttered, tugging herself free from his embrace. “No, I can’t…I…”

“Hermione?” Remus’s fingers closed around empty air as he followed her step-for-step. Underneath his shoes, glass crunched and broke further into fine, sharp powder.

Elation turned into panic, as he watched the woman shrink into herself; happiness turned into helplessness as he slammed painfully into the invisible walls Hermione had erected around her soul.

Drawing her wand, the witch cast a silent _‘Accio’_ for her shapeless coat. Turning one foot to the right, with a loud pop, she was gone.

With a jarring start, Remus suddenly realized that the witch didn’t have a single anti-apparition ward set up in her own home, that might have prevented an intruder from appearing right above her…

Alone in her flat, left with only his very human senses to guide him, the man tried to make sense of a world he couldn’t seem to leave behind, even if he wanted to.

***

The food the both of them had brought home remained unopened and uneaten on the kitchen counter, and the hearth remained unlit. Without the benefit of warming charms or hot flames, the flat reverted to its natural, chilly state.

For hours upon hours, Remus paced the length of the room, wishing that Hermione would come home. If she were bleeding, he would fix her. If she were crying, he would hold her. If she wanted him gone, he would go, he would fucking disappear.

Probably. Maybe.

By the time four a.m. approached, Remus understood with sinking despair that Hermione wasn’t going to make it back to the flat - not without help, anyway. Pushing his way out the front door and rushing down the stairs with his wand clutched tightly in his pocket, he stopped on the pavement outside the building and took a deep breath…

Only to find that he could pick up nothing at all, except a faint scent of rubbish.

_“You’re seeing the world the way the rest of us mere mortals do.”_

Pushing aside the painful memory of Hermione’s laughing voice, Remus glanced about him with hopeless eyes. Nothing within his line of sight was open - not a single shop, not a single pub.

Unbidden, memories of her bloodied torso surfaced in his mind. To his heightening panic, it occurred the man that the witch might be bleeding out in a dark alley, without anyone around who could or would help her…

 _Harry_ , he thought at last. _Harry would be able to help._

Forcing himself to calm down, Remus focused his thoughts, and conjured up the image of the only place he could think of, where he might find James’s son.

***

He stood in front of the familiar door, knocking persistently and frantically.

Because Remus wasn’t a _complete_ fool, he had his wand raised in his right hand.

“I’m coming,” someone yelled from within the house. The voice was so familiar, it could have belonged to James Potter himself.

“Christ, what the fuck is the matter with…” Harry started as he flung the door open. Quick as a whip, James’s son had his weapon pointed in Remus’s face. “Who the fuck are you? Take his face off _now_ ,”

“Harry,” Remus refused to budge. “I know this is mad but…”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Harry growled, stepping out into the snow in his slippers and dressing gown.

“You’re going to catch your death,” Remus muttered. Then, “I promise you, I’m Remus John Lupin. Ask me something only I would know. Anything,”

“Remus Lupin is dead,” Harry hissed.

“So I’ve been told,” Remus retorted truthfully. “The trouble is, last time I checked, you were in your Sixth year at Hogwarts. You were also obsessed with Draco Malfoy and some bloke who called himself the Half Blood Prince,”

The other wizard’s casting hand wavered.

“What was Neville Longbottom’s boggart,” Harry demanded.

“Severus Snape,” Remus replied immediately.

“Well, anyone who attended that class could have told me that,”

“Then why did you bloody ask?” the werewolf sniped.

“Fine. Fine then…what was Sirius Black’s nickname?” Harry growled.

“ _Padfoot_ ,” Remus practically snarled. “Your father was _Prongs_ , I was _Moony_ , and Peter- _fucking_ -Pettigrew was _Wormtail_ , a name which suited that traitorous rat-faced bastard better than I could ever have imagined. The four of us created the Maurauder’s Map, which the Weasley twins somehow got their hands on. Despite the fact that those two knew what the map did, never once did they wonder why their little brother Ron was spending every night sleeping with a man named Peter. If you want my opinion, that was seriously _weird_. My parents’ names were…”

“Remus?” Harry interrupted shakily.

“Harry,” Remus lowered his casting hand. “Harry, I need your help,”

Blinking, James’s son goggled unhelpfully at him.

“It’s Hermione,” he explained quickly. “I’ve been staying with her these past few days since I somehow ended up here in 2018…but she’s _gone_ Harry. She just up and left, and I…”

“Gone?” Harry quirked his head to the right. Resignation crept into his green eyes.

“Gone,” Remus confirmed, running his fingers through his already messy hair. “I…I kissed her. I’m sorry, I don’t know how else to explain it. We were happy, and I kissed her, and then…”

“Shit,”

Shoulders drooping, Harry gestured towards the house. “I suppose I better wake Ginny,”

Batting aside his burgeoning impatience, Remus followed the other wizard indoors.

***

“So she just what, _took off_?” Ginny questioned as she poured them all tea.

“That’s right. I don’t know where she could be. Nothing was open when I went looking in the neighbourhood,” Remus said miserably from where he sat at Harry’s table.

“What I still don’t get is…” Harry continued staring at him in awe. “How…”

“I walked into a Magical cupboard in 1997 and showed up twenty-one years in the future,” Remus explained for the fiftieth time. “I ran into Hermione. She took me in. She was kind to me and now she’s…”

“I’m guessing she didn’t explain a damned thing to you,” Ginny settled in a chair across from him.

Despite the fact that she was conversing with a long-dead time-travelling werewolf, the redhead seemed remarkably collected and unaffected.

“She told me about the war, about how it ended. About how I died and all that,” Remus said woodenly. “She told me what had happened with Bellatrix Lestrange…but she didn’t explain to me why she’s living alone in Muggle London, trying to drink herself into oblivion,”

Before his eyes, Harry and Ginny shared a significant look. Remus didn’t like it one bit, not least because he was reminded once again that he was now the youngest individual in the room in too many ways that counted.

“Did she say anything about Ron?” Harry asked hesitantly.

Choking back a noise of frustration, Remus shook his head.

“Last year…” Ginny cleared her throat. By her side, Harry reached for her hand. “Last year, Hermione and Ron took a trip to the Cotswalds for the weekend. Someone…someone took them right from their hotel room,”

Bitterness began to taint Remus’s mouth.

“When we found them a week later, in a shack by the outskirts of town, Ron was long dead. Hermione’s throat…her throat was cut, but she…”

The werewolf clenched his fists.

“She survived. She was cut, and she had been horribly beaten…” Ginny looked him in the eye. “Mum decided it was Hermione’s…she decided it was best Rose and Hugo stayed with her. Blood statuses were invoked, binding spells were cast by the Ministry…Hermione can’t go within five miles of the Burrow without getting stung by a dozen wards,”

Looking down at the dining table before him, the werewolf fought back a shout of rage as the big picture finally emerged in all its awful glory.

“We would stop going over to Molly’s except…except Hermione always wants to know how Rose and Hugo are. She always has gifts for them. Books and things,” Harry explained tiredly. “You know how she is,”

“It’s a good thing Dad passed five years ago,” Ginny looked old as she said this. “It would have killed him all over again, to see what Mum’s done. As it is, Bill and George won’t even speak to her anymore. Mum…she’s ripped our family to pieces…”

“Molly took Hermione’s children away from her,” Remus rasped. “She did it by labelling Hermione a Mudblood,”

“It’s not like that, it’s…”

“It’s _exactly_ like that,” Remus stood up.

“What’s important right now is Hermione,” Harry said firmly. Resignedly, Ginny kissed him on his cheek; waving her wand in his direction, her husband’s pyjamas transformed into proper attire.

“The man who hurt her,” Remus said as the other man rose to his feet. “What happened to him?”

“He got away,” Harry told him honestly and furiously. “He thought he was leaving me _two_ corpses to find. I have to find her. _Now_.”

“Who is _he_?” Remus asked as the two men stalked towards the kitchen exit.

Tilting his gaze, Harry pronounced in a still, dead voice, “Aquila Goyle,”

***

Harry apparated them to six different pubs across the country. On the seventh, both wizards found their quarry slumped against the frozen back stoop of a seedy dive, unconscious but very much alive.

Scooping her unresisting form into his arms, Remus muttered a warming charm, and observed in relief as colour returned to Hermione’s cheeks.

Carefully, Harry apparated all of them back to the witch’s flat, whereupon Remus set her gently upon her own bed. Shutting the bedroom door behind him to give her a small measure of privacy, he turned to observe as James’s son collapsed onto the transfigured sofa.

“She’s sleeping,” Remus said needlessly. Flexing his fingers, he noted that his wolf strength was finally returning to him.

Never had Remus felt so glad to know that he was still every inch a werewolf.

“No Professor, she’s passed out. There’s a difference,” Harry corrected. Glancing down at the piece of furniture he was currently sitting on, he scrunched his nose and asked, “Is this thing new?”

Ignoring the pointless question, Remus asked, “Does Hermione do this a lot?”

Gazing warily at him, Harry flicked his eyes towards the sole bedroom in the flat.

“I’ve set wards…alarms really…which tell me if she’s been away from home for more than twelve hours,” the other wizard admitted. “She doesn’t know that I’ve put such monitoring spells in place. If she did, she’d skewer me with my own wand,”

“Do those alarms go off a lot?” Remus asked wretchedly.

“It was bad at the beginning,” Harry leaned back. “Three times a week, the wards would go off. It was like we had another infant to take care of. Whenever the alarms sounded, I had to go off on scavenger hunts through all the worst pubs in all of Great Britain…”

“She was in pain,”

“Yeah, but so was I. So was _Ginny_ ,” Harry’s mouth twisted. “She could have been a little more considerate,”

“Have things gotten better?” Remus inquired coldly. How dare Harry lecture Hermione, after his own mother-in-law took the woman’s children from her?

“Somewhat,” the other man chuckled mirthlessly. “Once every two weeks, maybe. You were our bonus alarm this time,”

“Lucky then, that I stepped into the wrong cupboard,” Remus said flatly.

Shaking his head, Harry glanced at the books on Hermione’s desk. After a moment, he asked, “So 1997. I suppose my godfather…”

Remus circled Hermione’s desk and sat himself down in her chair.

“Sirius is dead,” he stated bluntly and a little pettily.

“Oh,” Harry’s eyes shuttered. “Right, of course he would be. 1997. Christ…”

“If I make it back…” Remus sighed. “You can tell Ginny I will do everything in my power to see to it that Fred lives,”

“It would be nice if you and Tonks made it too,” Harry smiled slightly.

Even now, twenty years later, everyone still thought he had been just as in love with the Metamorphagus, as she claimed she was with him. Nobody seemed to understand what had been actually brewing right under their goddamned noses.

“Teddy. He’s…” Harry started. “He’s been…difficult lately. He could really use a father. You’d be proud of him - he’s gone to art school you know. That came as a shock to me - I thought he would have made a brilliant Auror. Perhaps you might come with me this afternoon, and we could…”

Remus stared hard at Harry. For all that the James’s son was a man now, he still spoke like a boy. Like a child who believed fairy tales might actually happen in real life.

“First of all, it’s probably not a good idea for a dead man to be seen walking around. Who knows what kind of attention that might attract,” he shifted awkwardly. “No doubt, some enterprising villain might seize on my presence to change history if they could find a way, and I have a feeling that’s not what we want. I can’t imagine it’d go over well with this boy either, if his dead father simply materialized from out of nowhere,”

“But…”

“The truth is…Harry, I don’t know who this Teddy-person is. I mean, Hermione told me I have a son in this time, but…in 1997, I wasn’t a father…”

A huge part of him did want to meet the boy Hermione had told him was his son. The very idea that he, of all people, should have been blessed with a child seemed ludicrous and miraculous all at once.

However, another small voice at the back of his head was still shrieking in unadulterated panic at the extremely surreal notion that he had a child he had never met, who was in his bloody _twenties_.

Very slowly, fury began to filter into Harry’s green eyes.

“My place is…” Remus tried to find the words. “I need to be here, to find my way home,”

“About that,” Harry’s brow furrowed further. “Perhaps it’s a better idea if you came with me…”

From behind the closed bedroom door, Hermione began to whimper in her sleep.

“Why?” the werewolf was across the room before he quite realized what he was doing.

“It’s obvious why,” Harry pushed himself off the transfigured sofa.

“No,” Remus said. “No, I’m not going anywhere,”

“Is that how it’s going to be then, _Moony_?” Harry demanded. “You stay here, messing with Hermione’s head until you fuck off back to wherever you came from?”

“I wasn’t messing with her head,” the wizard stood his ground.

“You kissed her,” Harry hissed.

Remus said stubbornly, “I’m not leaving her alone. God knows, she’s been alone for long enough as it is,”  
“She’s got plenty of people who care about her,” Harry’s voice grew louder. Clearly, he had never lost his penchant to work himself up in the blink of an eye. “ _I_ care about her,”

“Oh?” Remus gestured at all the empty liquor bottles surrounding them. “She’s been drinking herself to death. What exactly have you done to stop this?”

“You know, I don’t remember you being quite this massive of an arsehole,” Harry insulted through gritted teeth.

“That’s because you didn’t know me at all,” Remus pointed out. “All you ever saw was your Professor. You have no idea who I am Harry. Your father did, but you’re not him. He would never have allowed this kind of shite to happen,”

“You know nothing about what we’ve been through,” Harry spat.

“I know more than I did two days ago. I know you’re not the man I thought you’d grow up to be, for one,” Turning on his heel, Remus let himself into Hermione’s room. Deliberately, he shut the bedroom door in the other wizard’s face.

Guilt weighed heavily in his belly after a second for his own unkindness. Settling into what was fast becoming his usual spot by her bed, Remus reached for Hermione’s hand.

“You’re safe,” he assured softly. “It’s alright, you’re safe, I promise,”

Doing his best not to acknowledge exactly how fucked up _everything_ , absolutely everything was, Remus leaned his forehead against her knuckles.

Outside the room, there was a small ‘pop’, followed by absolute silence.

Harry was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so I like Mansionair. Violet City was my favourite song from 2018. Hold Me Down was a close second.


	5. Spinning Around Your Five Mile Radius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: just a vague reminder this Remus is supposed to be Remus a year before DH - that is, he probably wasn’t ready to face certain death yet... (This version of Remus isn’t suicidal either when compared to the other fic I wrote )...

“This one’s interesting,” Hermione glanced at him from her chair.

It was December twenty-second, and Remus was still very much stuck in the year 2018. Despite the hours spent poring over all kinds of texts related to time-travel, nothing seemed legitimately useful.

“Did Mrs. Claus write, asking for you to follow Mr. Claus around on Christmas Eve?” Remus asked as he hung a bright-red stocking over her hearth. Sure, it was ridiculous...the lights, the tiny tree, the tinsel he’d dragged into her flat...but they made the place seem almost…cozy.

“ _Rude_ ,” Hermione rolled her eyes. The woman had yet to remove the red hat he had levitated and dropped upon her curls a half-hour ago. “No. This one thinks her husband might actually be the god Dionysus,”

“Is that right?” Remus snorted. “Because last week, I received an email from a woman who was convinced her husband was fucking a swan. Perhaps the Greek Pantheon are upon us for the Holidays. Which is a pity, considering I always favoured Odin and his brood myself,”

With what small fortune he had brung with him from the past - which he had been earmarked for Wolfsbane Potion - Remus had exchanged it all for Muggle pound notes…money of which he had subsequently spent on a computer of his own. According to the helpful young man at the shop, all he needed after was something called ‘Chrome’, and he was set. 

After Remus had carted the slim laptop back to Hermione’s flat, there had been a bit of a row. Something about how he should have talked to her first, before he went out and established for himself an ‘Online Presence’….whatever the hell that meant.

“There are magical eyes on Muggle technology these days Remus, probably on my I.P. as a matter of fact,” she had chided as she stuck a piece of tape across the laptop’s camera. 

They didn’t talk about who specifically might be surveilling her comings and goings, but Remus knew anyway.

_Aquila Goyle._

“I don’t want some Death Eater wannabe killing you before you can make it home. It could completely change the outcome of that final battle,”

“Oh is that the only reason you’re keeping me alive?” he had teased as he watched her install several complex pieces of software on his new laptop. They were supposed to ward his machine from nefarious creatures known as Malware...

“Don’t tempt me into changing my mind,” Hermione had warned him with mock severity. “Now prepare yourself. The internet is a wilderness filled with hate, love, kittens, and a lot of pornography. Not to mention trolls...”

“Porn?” he had immediately become intrigued. “How do I…”

A firm smack on his head sent him laughing. That she hadn’t shied from that casual display of what he wanted to believe was affection filled him with inordinate, guilty pleasure.

The moment he became properly connected to the world wide web, Hermione had immediately added him as her business partner on her own personal website…as a _Mr. R.J. Lemming_. Since then, he had started filtering through online submissions from what appeared to be a crowd of unsuspecting Muggles, who had no idea the Private Investigator they were looking to hire, was a powerful witch who tracked down their targets with little to no trouble.

In the present, Hermione shut her laptop and squinted at him. “Are you hanging candy canes on that silly tree?”

Remus grinned unrepentantly. “I happen to like peppermint sticks with chocolate in the middle,” 

“You would,” she turned her nose up ever so slightly as she stretched languidly in her seat. Averting his gaze, Remus focused on the tree. 

Bare feet padded in his direction. Stopping beside him, she frowned.

“What’s wrong now?” he quirked a brow. Carefully, he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. He didn’t want his hands free. He didn’t want to accidentally do anything too stupid, not now, when things were so easy between the two of them.

“The tree needs more red,” she stated.

“Witch, it’s got red ribbon all over,” he pointed out.

“Shush,” she waved her wand. Bright shiny ornaments floated from out of thin air.

As the glass spheres hung themselves on mostly bare boughs, Remus sighed. "It's a bit of a Charlie Brown Christmas tree, but it's still a tree I suppose,"

"Silly isn't it?" Hermione asked softly. "That we put such weight on the shape of material things. By boxing day, this is all just rubbish,"

Disturbed at her sudden spiral, Remus cast his companion a sideways glance. He supposed in her shoes, he could see why Christmas held no promise for her. If anything, he could empathize, considering how many lonely Decembers he himself had spent in his shabby little cottage in Yorkshire.

Which was now apparently, a tourist destination for young wizarding folk. 

Fucking hell.

"I bought you a gift," Remus summoned a wrapped package from halfway across the room.

"What? Why?" she sputtered, her morose temperament vanishing. 

"When..." he hesitated for a moment. " _If_ I leave, I can't take this money back with me. Legal tender printed in 2018...someone will ask questions. When you really think about it, all the money I’ve been earning is really _yours_ , so I'm just giving it back to you. Wrapped in bright Christmas paper,"

Since the day she had run off...which also happened to be the day he woke up with Hermione snuggled into his side, one thing had remained constant: Remus was finding it genuinely hard to want to return to his own time. 

Keeping his gaze fixed on Hermione's profile as she fiddled with the Christmas stockings, Remus watched, mesmerized, as the flames cast strange patterns on her heart-shaped face. 

"Alright, I should head out to find Mrs. Robarts," Hermione sighed as she removed the red Santa hat.

"Now?" he asked in surprise. Lamely, he added, "It's getting dark,"

"She's supposed to be meeting her sister at seven," Hermione shrugged. "Or so she told her husband,"

"I could come with you," Remus offered.

Really, he ought to stay back and read another one of those time travel books, or to go through recent emails from new clients.

"It's not very exciting. Chances are, this close to Christmas, she probably _is_ meeting her sister," Hermione made a face. 

"This close to Christmas, it'd be nice to go see what the holidays are like in the twenty-first century," Remus parried as he spelled his hair blonde and his eyes blue.

"Oh alright," the witch sighed. "I suppose I ought to increase your share in takings, if you're going to start coming out with me on cases. Would you care for a raise?"

"It all goes back into gifts for you anyway," he teased.

 

***

 

Melissa Robarts was a woman in her early thirties, blonde, pale and delicate. When first she had arrived, the woman had looked about her in haughty indifference. However, a certain stutter in her movements told the werewolf that she was more than anxious about the possibility that she might get spotted by someone she knew.

Ordering herself a glass of expensive Riesling, Mrs. Robarts folded herself elegantly onto a barstool. Idly, she began browsing through her Instagram feed on her phone.

“How did you get into this business anyway?” Remus asked, keeping one eye on their target.

The two investigators were crammed into a nearby booth.

“I was at loose ends,” Hermione explained. “I had recently wandered back into the Muggle side of things…”

She didn’t bother explaining why. Despite weeks of basically living side-by-side, had it not been for Harry, Remus would still have been clueless about certain truths.

“…and I came across a forum online, where mothers posted information about their missing children,”

Picking up his lager, Remus felt his heart constricting itself into an aching knot. 

“There was this girl. She was perhaps ten? Eleven? Anyway, there was a photo of her which the girl’s mother had posted…I cast a few locator spells, and I found out where she was,” Hermione continued. “Just in time too. Her father was about to put her on a plane to America,”

“Ugh,” Remus said, scrunching his nose in distaste.

“Right,” Hermione smiled ruefully. “Anyway, a good review of my work was posted somewhere. More people started coming to me. At first it was all cases like missing pets, or runaways…after a while, dissatisfied spouses began coming out of the woodwork…”

“Do you like doing it?” he asked hesitantly.

“It’s something to do,” Hermione’s eyes drifted back towards Melissa Robarts. “It occupies my mind. And it pays well,”

Before Remus could ask another question, Hermione held up a hand as she turned her attention towards the bar. Following her gaze, he spotted Mrs. Robarts's date arriving.

The man was not what he expected. Indeed, he was a bit older, a bit paunchier than the sort of man women picked when they were pursuing an extramarital affair...though the werewolf supposed he had no actual idea what sort of men women went for, when they cheated on their husbands.

Flicking his wand, he muttered a soft, homemade cantrip. Casting him a wide-eyed look of surprise, Hermione smiled appreciatively as Melissa's voice filtered softly into their little booth.

"...pricey isn't it? It's a comic book. You can’t seriously want twelve thousand quid for it?" Mrs. Robarts sputtered. 

"Lady," the man snorted. "That's the price these things go for. D’ya want it or not? I don't got all day, but I got other buyers who would kill for this,"

 _Not_ lovers then.

Curiosity piqued, Remus craned his neck trying to catch sight of the comic book they were haggling over. Rolling her eyes, Hermione nudged him in his ribs.

Wearing an injured expression, the werewolf rubbed his side reproachfully. 

"No no..." Mrs. Robarts's sighed. "I'll pay your ridiculous price. Dave's been hunting for this silly old thing for years. It's the perfect Christmas gift," 

"Whatever you want," the seller sounded bored. "As long as you pay in cash,"

Ending the spell, Remus turned to look at Hermione, who was chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip. Captivated, he forgot what he had been about to say.

"Seems a bit awful that her husband's sent us spying after her, while she's here spending a small fortune on a gift for him," 

"Could be worse," Remus wondered if it would really be so bad to reach out and stroke the back of Hermione's hand with his forefinger. "She could _actually_ be cheating on Dave,"

Glancing over at him, something darkened in Hermione's eyes as she caught sight of the way he was gazing at her. The woman's heart rate quickened ever so slightly within her chest, as her nostrils flared. 

Something like triumph unfurled its banners within Remus's heart as he saw that he wasn't alone in his fascination.

"Perhaps we had better pay Mr. Robarts a visit before his wife makes it home," he suggested. 

Without directly acknowledging it, his desire to return to an earlier timeline faded even more.

It wasn't as if history had been changed in his absence, from everything he could tell. Or perhaps it had already changed, and he simply didn't know what it was that had shifted around him. Honestly speaking, Remus was no longer sure he even cared…

"Teddy," Hermione blurted out.

Evidently, the woman sitting beside him was thinking along those same lines.

"He's still here," he pointed out softly, mentally owning that a part of him might regret _at least_ , ending his own son’s existence before it even began.

Though even if we went back to 1997, could he truly want to find Tonks, to give her a facsimile of a life she didn’t actually want? After all, most of her heart had pitched itself behind ragged curtains in a room underneath the Ministry, to a place from which there was no return. 

That and...did he really wish to orphan a young infant, should history repeat itself?

"I..." Hermione’s dark eyes were wide and lost; her graceful fingers twitched around her glass.

"Come on, let's go see Mr. Robarts," Remus held a hand out to her as he stood, feeling every inch the courageous Gryffindor he had once been told he was.

Unspeaking, Hermione dropped her gaze. Pushing herself to her feet, she rose and brushed past him.

"Are you coming?" she asked softly.

For a second, he could see her waging an internal war in her mind, as her hand darted towards his own. To his vague disappointment but overall amusement, she proceeded to stuff both hands deep into her coat pockets.

"Yes," he nodded as resolve solidified in his heart. "I'm right behind you,"

***

The two of them arrived back at her flat laden down with food, to find Harry waiting outside her door, looking distinctly put-out by the noise the neighbours were making. 

That is, the very loud sex that was occurring in the unit next door.

"I couldn't apparate into your home," he grumbled.

"Thank Merlin," Remus muttered. 

"You would be Remus, I presume" the bespectacled wizard nodded curtly at him. "Horrible disguise you have on. You look like a right twat with that blonde hair all slicked back,"

"Charming," the werewolf rolled his eyes. 

Ignoring the tension between the men, Hermione unlocked her front door and said, ”Just the person I wanted to see. I've got some things I'd like you to take to Rose and Hugo if you don't mind..."

"Of course," Harry nodded. Very deliberately, he stepped in front of Remus as he followed his best friend into the flat. 

The two men watched as Hermione hurried off into her bedroom. Alone in the empty-ish living area, side-by-side, they shuffled in uncomfortable silence. In the end, it was Remus who found his voice first.

"I'm sorry for what I said the other day. It was...harsh. And...I didn't really mean it. You obviously care for Hermione, and..."

"Oh right on," Harry glared. “Finally noticed have you?” 

Deciding it was best he held his tongue, Remus turned towards the small kitchen to unload himself of his burdens. His movements stalled however, as Harry said in a far softer voice, "I'm sorry too. I was tired, and I said things I didn't mean. I was just...I was so excited to see you mate, you have no idea. I was excited for Teddy too, and I didn't think for a second...well, I didn't think, period,"

Shoulders slumping in relief, Remus met the his former student's gaze.

"When I was Teddy's age, I used to wish desperately that I could meet my father," Harry explained. "When you said...when you said what you said, I took it a little more personally than I should have done. I was hurt, not for Teddy's sake, but for mine. In hindsight, my suggestion was ridiculous as all hell..."

Remus's face twisted into a painful grimace. "Harry, I'm so sorry. I didn't even think about how my words must have sounded. James would absolutely not have reacted the way I did, you must know that. It's very different however; James was already your father when..."

"I know, I know…” Harry flushed. "Like I said, I wasn't even thinking. If you shipped the 1997 version of me into...well, 2018, I probably would have reacted like a right berk too,"

"No of course not, you've always been more sensitive, and...

Before he could continue, Hermione was back out in the living room with a pile of wrapped packages stacked in her arms.

"You're _both_ idiots," she stated crisply, clearly unimpressed by their self-effacing speeches. Setting the gifts down on her desk, she bent over and started scribbling out notes on a small pad of paper, before she charmed her missives so only her children could read them. 

"Right," Remus said in genuine contrition.

James's son regarded the werewolf with an amused half-smile. "I see she's got you whipped. And it's been what, four weeks?"

"I prefer to think of it as being compliant to a higher authority," Remus said a little defensively.

"Anyway, I came by to ask Hermione if she would like to spend Christmas Eve with us," Harry cleared his throat as he flicked his emerald gaze towards the witch in question. "Ginny would love it if you joined us…and…I thought...maybe you would like to give your gifts to Rose and Hugo yourself,”

"Wouldn't Molly throw a fit?" Hermione whirred around in surprise as hope blossomed on her face. 

"Molly doesn't know," Harry shook his head.

Turning on his heel, Remus stalked towards the fireplace and busied himself with the business of lighting the hearth. With his face turned towards the grate, no one could see the dark scowl forming on his brow.

Molly Weasley had always been unreasonably protective and vindictive. What she had done to Hermione was misguided at best, but heinous at worst.

"I..." Hermione breathed. "Yes, yes I would love that,"

"Remus, you're welcome too. I mean, Teddy..." Harry hesitated. "Teddy's not going to be there I don’t think. He won't..."

"Is he still not speaking to you?" Hermione asked as her expression turned sympathetic. 

"No, I'm afraid not," Harry sighed. 

Curiously, Remus turned towards the other wizard. "Why is my son not speaking to you? Do you simply rub all Lupin men the wrong way?"

"I...um..." Harry flushed, looking unhappy and worried. “He texts Ginny once in a while to let her know he’s fine…though he knows if he doesn’t, she'll show up at his doorstep along with twelve howlers. She's still very angry at me about this whole thing actually. Sometimes, she cries when she thinks I can’t hear her…”

Hermione rubbed at her forehead. "Remus, it's nothing to worry about. Teddy's just young and he’s always been a bit temperamental. It’s the artist in him I suppose. The boy will get over it. He’ll come back to Harry and Ginny eventually…”

"Get over what, exactly?” the werewolf started feeling a bit peeved at the way everyone was speaking in riddles.

"Back during the war, we found this artefact called the Resurrection Stone..." Hermione explained slowly. "After you died - which is starting to feel extremely odd to say to your face by the way - Harry used the stone. Your ghost came back, and you told Harry you were trying to make a happier world for Teddy…you didn’t seem to mind very much, that your efforts cost you your life,”

Aghast, Remus stared at his former pupils in stunned silence. 

"I might have said..." Harry interjected at last. "I might have said you were quite at peace with the whole…um… _dying_ -thing, I suppose. Teddy took offense to that when I told him the story on his birthday last year. He seems to think you didn’t love him enough to stick around. Which is patently ridiculous, and I told him so…"

"You told my son that I was quite satisfied with my decision to die a for a better world, at the expense of giving him a father,” Remus asked.

Taking a deep breath he tried to formulate his thoughts. 

Then, 

” _Bollocks_ to that. I’ve never wanted to be a martyr, or a hero, and I still _don’t_. Not even getting my own Chocolate Frog Card is worth dying for, in my opinion. So we're all clear, if I had a son waiting for me back in 1997, I would be doing everything in my power to stay alive for my child. I would be ripping apart this reality to get home. Nothing would be more important to me - _nothing_. Not even defeating the Dark Lord, or my tattered reputation, or…or probably _you_ , to be honest. I’m sorry Harry, but that’s the sad truth. I’m just not that good of a person,”

"But you said..."

"That wasn't me. I don't know who you were speaking with, but that wasn't me. I would never have said anything so bloody cliched or sappy," Remus shook his head vigorously. "Harry, I know what the Resurrection Stone is. Every wizard or witch who has ever read the _Tales of Beetle the Bard_ does. Has it never occurred to you that even in the stories, that damned thing was a lie meant to lure its victims to their grave?"

Stricken, Harry slumped down on the sofa.

Hermione was pale as a sheet. "Harry...you _did_ die that night. Immediately after, as a matter of fact,"

"Wait..." Remus blinked. “You _what?_ ”

"I did die, yeah" Harry looked wrecked. "Does this mean I never spoke to Sirius that night? Or Mum, or Dad..."

 _Fuck_ , Remus cringed. Fuck him and his stupid, big mouth.

“Harry, I’m so sor..."

"I have to go," Harry rasped. 

"Harry maybe you had better..." Hermione reached to touch his shoulder.

"I'll see the both of you tomorrow. Remus, you should glamour yourself again, in case Teddy _does_ make an appearance," Harry waved them off and disappeared out the door. 

“Why do I get the feeling I’ve just fucked up terribly?” Remus shuffled uncomfortably. 

"Oh Professor," Hermione regarded him with an affectionate smile. Breaching the space between them, to his infinite surprise, the witch tugged him into a tight hug. "All these years...I had thought that entire story Harry told was odd. The way he said it...everything seemed far too perfect. All these dead people, so calm and happy…now however, to hear you speaking so passionately about staying alive for the sake of those you love…it means more to me than you could ever know,”

Slowly, Remus's arms circled around her waist.

"Understand that I would die for those I love," he murmured into her hair. ”But that’s hardly Plan A. Plus, I wouldn’t ever say anything as cheesy and as self-congratulatory as ‘I died trying to make a happier world’. Honestly, I can’t believe you people believed I was _that_ self-involved,”

Bursting into laughter, she leaned back and took his face in her hands. 

"Thank you," she said softly. 

"For?" Remus asked dazedly.

"For being here, that’s all. For giving this old, wasted woman some joy,” she pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

Remus longed to tell her that she wasn’t old. That she was beautiful, and sweet, and kind, and everything he had always imagined wanting. Opening his mouth, he almost allowed his heart to spill past his lips, except Hermione would insist on pulling herself away.

"Now...I know you disapprove. But I could use a drink, and I have a feeling, so could you,”

Nodding dumbly, Remus watched as she swept away from him, praying to whichever god that would listen, that this wasn’t all just a cruel dream…and that time indeed, was his gift to squander as he so chose.


	6. Surrounded by The City Shelf

It was wonderful to see Harry enjoying his family, wonderful to see him happy, and immersed in the love of his wife and his children. For all that he had never been truly close to the younger wizard - notwithstanding that one year he had been a Professor of Hogwarts - Remus would be forever grateful that he had lived to witness James’s son experiencing true happiness.

Also brilliant - the sight of Hermione’s cheeks glowing with pure joy as she beheld the faces of her son and daughter.

What wasn’t easy, was witnessing the way Rose and Hugo had both wept at the start of the day, and then again at the end.

“I don’t understand Mum,” Rose choked out as she clung desperately to Hermione’s waist. Close by Harry reluctantly bundled Hugo into a coat, even as Ginny wrung her hands in sympathetic frustration. “I don’t understand why we can’t be with you tomorrow, and for the rest of the holidays. I don’t understand why we can’t go home,”

Turning on her heel, with a muffled sob, Ginny fled.

“Hush,” Hermione said soothingly. The witch had worn a wide smile which had failed reach her eyes. “We’ll see each other again. You’ll spend Christmas with Grandma Molly, and she’ll cook you the loveliest dinners…”

“Grandma Molly tells us its for our own good. That you can’t be there with us because it’s too dangerous. It’s that true Mum?” Hugo demanded with the brashness of any eleven year old. The boy had finally ripped himself from Harry, in favour of shoving his sister aside for his share of his mother. “She says you attract danger…”

Hermione gathered her son against her heart. “You’ll understand someday, why things are the way they are. I can only pray that the world will be a happier place by then...”

Feeling like an intruder, Remus had lingered in a shadowy corner with only a glass of Ogden’s Old for company. From where he stood, he could pick out the barely banked anger in Harry’s eyes as the other man beheld an injustice he could not for the life of him, fix.

Much later, in the deep watches of the night, and when it was only the two of them sitting upon the cold floorboards of her flat, Hermione slurringly explained to Remus how no wizarding lawmaker would willingly breach the laws Molly had invoked against her.

“…not even for me,” she had hiccuped against his shoulder. “For all I’ve tried to accomplish, it has become abundantly clear that I will never be worthy in the eyes of Wizarding Britain. The court ruled that I was an unfit wife, who allowed her Pureblood husband to die before her eyes…they said that I attracted too much of the wrong attention. All in all, it was decided that I would not be able to keep my own children safe…”

This then, was the happier world he had helped build, Remus pondered bitterly. The world he had apparently died for.

When it was clear that she could speak no more, Remus carried her limp form to bed, before he settled himself on the ground beside her. Reaching for her hand, he leaned back against the wall, and waited for her ever-present nightmares to begin.

***

The rest of December passed quietly enough, as cases dropped off to nothing for a few days. Having exhausted their limited supply of research materials, Hermione insisted on visiting various magical libraries across the country, in the hopes of finding more guides on time travel.

Half-heartedly, Remus flipped through tome after dusty tome, seeking a solution to his not-quite problem. With disinterested eyes, he skimmed through wordy passages, seeking hints as to how one might travel back into the past.

To his immense and unspoken relief, they both found nothing of real use…although he suspected, he wasn’t actually seeking all that hard for a way ‘home’.

***

2019 arrived by the light of a full moon, on the writhing back of a frigid gale.

Seated in front of Hermione’s cracking fireplace with a coffee mug full of champagne in his hands, Remus hardly dared hope that his silly plan would work.

As midnight ticked around and as the neighbourhood exploded in raucous cheers, the werewolf took a large sip of liquid courage. Setting his cup down on the floor, Remus turned towards his companion. Under the influence of Lupine Remedium, the world felt duller than usual; still, despite this impediment, Hermione somehow remained as luminescent as ever in his eyes.

Leaning in before he could talk himself out of his own romantic foolishness, Remus dropped a kiss to the side of Hermione’s mouth.

Against his skin she murmured, “Remus this isn’t…”

The woman didn’t kiss him back. In all fairness, he hadn’t actually expected her to do such a thing. Still, the fact that she made no attempt to evade his tentative gesture was encouragement enough.

“It’s just a New Year’s kiss,” he explained softly, breathing her in. “It’s tradition,”

“Remus…” she shifted restlessly. Setting her own champagne down, she fiddled at the gold ring on her finger. “You don’t understand. This feels like betrayal…”

Saying nothing, the wizard directed his gaze back towards the flames. A few seconds later, a small, delicate palm rested gingerly atop his scarred knuckles.

“Happy new year Professor. May you find your way home this year,”

Flipping his hand, deftly, Remus wrapped his fingers around her own. When she didn’t immediately withdraw her touch, the man allowed himself to wonder if he hadn’t already found his way back to a home he had never truly expected to find.

“I haven’t been your Professor in years,” he said solemnly. “Over twenty at last count,”

Laughing, Hermione leaned into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.

 

***

It was sometime in the middle of January when his own first case tumbled through the door.

“Hello,” the young man said the moment he stepped into the flat.

On surrounding bookshelves, books on time travel reposed in benign silence underneath ever-thickening layers of dry dust.

“How did you find us?” Remus asked flatly, fully aware that no, Hermione and he were not expecting any clients that day. Behind his back, the werewolf fingered his wand warily.

Since his initial arrival and rude introduction into this brave new world, Remus had come to understand why walk-ins were not welcome. First of all, Hermione’s address wasn’t published anywhere online; initial meetings were held in public places, after appointments were arranged over email. Secondly, no one was considered a legitimate client without a cursory background check.

Of course, he had to learn all of this the hard way.

“Despite what the younger students at Hogwarts are up to these days, the older wizards - the Purebloods especially - would rather die than learn to use the internet,” Hermione had explained after a particularly nasty incident with an idiot who fancied himself the next Dark Lord. “If someone has no online presence, I can’t trust that they’re not Death Eaters, or misguided followers of the old ways,”

Panting over the body of the fool who had thought to try hexing not only a terrifying witch, but also an adult werewolf - albeit, one who wasn’t transformed - Remus had nodded in grim and embarrassed understanding.

The Dark Lord wannabe had knocked politely at the door. Remus had foolishly admitted the unassuming individual, who had been dressed as nothing more than a middle-aged Muggle accountant.

The moment the door had closed behind the dumb arse, the idiot had his wand out, and he had started screaming about Mudbloods, and filth…and all the usual brand of bigoted nonsense Remus had heard, all the way back in 1997. It took both him and Hermione all of five seconds to subdue the tosser, and another five before Harry showed up to drag the miscreant away to Azkaban.

In the present, Remus glared at his hipster visitor, wondering how this one found their address, and which forum he was going to need to shut down this time.

“Relax man,” the boy had a man-bun, the wizard noted with distaste; his jeans were too tight, and he apparently didn’t believe in socks. “My aunt gave me Miss. Granger’s address. She told me Granger was good. I didn’t realize she had a partner,”

“Get to the point,” Remus rolled his eyes.

“I have a job for Miss Granger…unless you’re able to help?”

“Listen, we’re extremely busy, so if you don’t mind…” the wizard came to the conclusion that the visitor was annoying, but ultimately harmless.

“Trust me, this job is worth your time,” his visitor grinned. “I’ll pay you five thousand quid up front, and another five thousand when it’s done,”

The room fell silent for a moment as the werewolf considered the hipster standing in front of him.

“My grandfather - bless his soul - died recently. Before he died, he went a little barmy and withdrew his fortune from his bank. If we understand the details correctly, the man hid his fortune in various places around his mansion…”

“You want me to find your grandfather’s money,” Remus quirked his right brow.

“Before my greedy relatives do, yes,” the young man nodded. “The name’s Ben by the way,”

Gazing at the smug fellow in front of him, in his overpriced Hawaiian shirt and designer shades, Remus couldn’t help but grin. Without missing a beat, he asked, “What are we waiting for Ben?”

“Nothing at all,” Ben shrugged.

“No, sorry that was a trick question - I actually do know what we’re waiting for. You mentioned five thousand quid up front?” the werewolf crossed his arms and waited.

The visitor smiled toothily.

***

By the time he made it back to the flat, it was almost midnight. Hurrying down the corridor, Remus patted the stack of bills in his inner coat pocket with more than a little satisfaction.

That job had been the easiest job in the world, the man reflected with a satisfied grin. All he had done was follow his nose. Considering the ease by which he had completed the task, Remus began to wonder why he had never pursued the occupation of Private Investigator to begin with...

The hours were flexible, and the pay was good. What better career could a werewolf have asked for?

Opening the front door, Remus’s grin widened as he spied Hermione seated behind her desk. The witch appeared incredibly bored as she scrolled through 9gag.com. Dressed in her nightclothes, with her feet perched up on her desk, the witch was the perfect picture of insouciance.

All of that was ruined however, the moment she tilted her gaze upwards and caught his eye.

“Remus, what…” she started as her dark eyes widened in frank alarm.

Warding the door behind him, the wizard felt his satisfaction fading into deep confusion.

“Did you go out looking like _that_?” she demanded as she set her laptop on her desk. Rising to her feet, she stalked towards him.

Since their sweet interlude on New Year’s Eve, things had slowly but obviously started to shift between them. Where once they walked with a noticeable gap between them, now they ambled through the city with their fingers interlaced. Where before she shied from his advances, now, she received his lingering glances with fetching blushes and small, secret smiles.

Which was why it didn’t seem at all unnatural for Remus, to immediately seize Hermione’s hand if only to calm her down.

Almost immediately, the woman pulled away.

“You can’t do that,” she gritted out as she curled her arms around herself. “You can’t,”

“I can do whatever I want,” Remus corrected sharply, and crossed his arms. “I’m a grown man in case you haven’t noticed,”

“You’re a war hero. A dead one at that! Christ, do you understand what could have happened to you? Someone might have recognized you. Someone might have tried to hurt you! How many times must we have this discussion?”

“No one touched me,” he took a deep breath to calm himself. Forcing a smile and loosening his stance, Remus explained, “I’m fine Hermione, nobody spotted me. The only person I spoke with all day was a rich idiot named Ben. Look, we got paid ten thousand…”

“You’re not even listening!” Hermione exploded. She’s sounded slightly hysterical.

Against the orange light of the blazing fireplace, Remus finally noticed what should have been glaringly obvious.

The woman before him was weeping tears of frustration and worry.

“Some idiot who recognized you might have decided to kill you, because they think that murdering you could change the outcome of the war against Voldemort,” she tried to keep her voice strong. “Or they might simply kill you because you’re Remus _Sodding_ Lupin. If something happened to you…if you…god Remus, if you _died_ …”

“I’m fine,” he stepped slowly towards her as if she were a deer that might startle. “I’m alive, I’m unhurt…I promise you, I’m fine,”

Standing still, the woman let him gather her body into a soft embrace. For a moment, she remained stiffly distant…

Until she wasn’t. Until she was melting into him and holding on to him like he was her only lifeline in a sea of madness.

“Hermione,” Remus swallowed as he tilted her chin up to face him. “I’m going to kiss you now, ok? Will you promise me you won’t run?”

“I promise nothing,” she answered, reaching to brush her tears away with the back of her right hand.

“Doesn’t matter I suppose,” he smiled. Under his chest, his heart felt as if it were going to explode, considering the pace by which it was racing. “I’ve got too many wards set up. You can’t disapparate on a whim this time,”

“You know, I never realized you were such a…” Hermione started.

Slanting his mouth over her lips, Remus never did find out what Hermione used to think he was like.

What he did find out, was what it meant to truly kiss Hermione Granger.

Wrapping an arm around his neck, she moulded herself against his lean frame as she sunk into the moment. A small tongue darted from between her lips, and caressed gently, the edge of his lower lip. Groaning, he opened his mouth and tasted her for the first time.

As far as kisses went, he thought distantly, the one he was engaging in with the witch in his arms, was by far, the best he had ever experienced. Indeed, it felt good, and sweet and _right_.

Without breaking contact, Remus guided Hermione until they reached the sofa, whereupon they tumbled together onto its soft cushions with their arms still wrapped around each other.

“Remus, I’m not…” she murmured against his mouth. “This is wonderful, but I’m not ready…”

“I’m not asking for more,” he assured as he reached up to brush an errant curl from her soft cheek. “Not now, not as long as you’re not ready,”

“Are you sure…” she hesitated. “This feels like it should feel wrong,”

“There’s nothing wrong in this,” he insisted as he pressed a kiss to her jaw. Reverent fingers brushed against the soft skin of her clavicle. With significant willpower, he kept himself from trailing his lips down the length of her throat.

“Remus, we can’t be selfish,” Hermione’s voice grew stronger. “This thing between us. It shouldn’t be. At some point, you’ll have to go back, you’ll have to…”

“I don’t want to,” he confessed at last. “I really don’t. I don’t want to go back to a world that’s caught in the throes of a brutal civil war. I don’t want to go back to a time when I’m forced to transform into a beast every time the moon is full. I don’t want to go back to a time when I’m fated to die in a span of months…but most of all, I don’t want to leave _you_ ,”

“I don’t want you to leave either,” she admitted. With those words alone, Remus’s heart soared higher than ever it had done in his entire life. “and I certainly don’t want you to die, though knowing what you know now, I have every hope that you might escape that fate yet. But…we can’t be selfish Remus…you have a son…”

“Who is still here isn’t he?” he pointed out. Cupping her cheeks, he pressed his forehead against her own. “Has it occurred to you that the present will not change at all, regardless if I get back to 1997 or not?”

“Yes, of course I have,” Hermione’s voice was filled with weariness. “But trying to wrap my brain around the concepts of time and space has been making my head hurt…me, the smartest witch my age,”

Cracking a smile, Remus recalled his compliment towards her younger self. Reaching for her casting hand, he pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist.

“I don’t want to leave,” he repeated. “I’ve been here months, and nothing has changed, though even if anything did, I get the feeling we wouldn’t even notice,”

Curling her legs up onto the sofa, Hermione bit contemplatively at her bottom lip as she was wont to do every time she began thinking too hard.

“I’ve only just found you,” he continued. “I’m not willing to give you up,”

“A bit melodramatic aren’t you?” she sounded unimpressed. “I’m there in 1997 you know. We already know each other in fact,”

“You’re bloody _sixteen_ in 1997,” Remus pointed out.

“ _Seventeen_ you idiot. Also, were you really that oblivious to the fact that I had a massive crush on you throughout almost the entirety of my teenage years?” Hermione smirked.

“What?” he sat back in surprise. “You’re joking,”

“Absolutely not,” her shoulders began shaking with laughter. “I was utterly _crushed_ when you went and married Tonks,”

Tugging her back into the circle of his arms, Remus stole another kiss from the giggling witch. Settling her neatly into his side, he ran his thumb over a sharp cheekbone.

“Tonks isn’t… _wasn’t_ in love with me. She never was. Last time I checked, she was still very much in love with Sirius,”

“But…” Hermione blinked. “She made it so clear…”

“Christ, this is such a weird conversation,” Remus sighed. “Hermione, grief does funny things to a person’s perception…I promise you, her heart belonged to another dead man. As for me, I…I had too many reasons preventing me from even _thinking_ about becoming involved with anyone. All of those reasons…they’re gone now, gone because of you…do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“Oh,” the witch in his arms seemed perplexed by this revelation.

“I have a feeling…Teddy…is… _was_ …probably a huge reason why I married her,” he shook his head. “Past-Future Me probably ended up succumbing to her constant haranguing one drunken night. Mistakes were probably made, which probably ended up in a clumsy proposal of marriage from yours truly,”

“You’re really not the romantic I thought you were,” Hermione observed.

“Miss Granger,” Remus chuckled. “I assure you, I can be extremely romantic…”

Hermione’s hands reached up between them, and cupped softly at his cheeks as he closed the distance between their lips.

Lost in the moment, time ceased to hold all meaning for Remus as he held Hermione close to his heart.

***

Huddling together, they watched as the embers burned themselves to nothing. Just before he fell asleep, Hermione said softly into the silence,

“I’m sorry for my less-than-stellar reaction earlier,”

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” he replied with a yawn.

“The thing is…” she hesitated.

Remus waited.

“The thing is…I watched as Ron was tortured to death before my eyes…I watched as he begged for mercy that would never come. The thought that you might somehow get captured by…by some enemy that recognized you…it brought home to me certain truths,” she said. “Against my better judgement - which admittedly, has faded away to almost nothing in the past year - you have become… _important_ to me,”

Filled with bittersweet emotion, Remus pressed another kiss to her forehead. The sofa was small, but that only meant that the two of them were forced to lay right up against each other.

“You’re important to me as well, in case I haven’t made myself clear,” he said.

Across the room, past the threshold of her bedroom door, Hermione’s empty bed beckoned…but Remus knew better than to suggest breaching that line just yet.

Nestling into his chest, Hermione eventually fell asleep. For his part, no longer tired in the least, Remus stared out the open window, wondering how far back in time one would have to travel, in order to stop the world from breaking the heart of the woman in his arms.


	7. Borrow Tomorrow's Happiness For Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Call no man happy until he is dead" - after much editing, it is my personal opinion that this story will not work in serialized format, and will need to be read as one whole work.
> 
> Thus, I am posting it all at once, so that one might perhaps call it happy after its death.

It was February by the time Harry decided to broach the obvious, in a manner that was altogether too _Harry_ for words.

“Not to be rude or anything, but when exactly were you planning on returning to 1997?” James’s demanded one day, apropos of nothing.

Somewhere under a pile of other books, Remus knew that the third edition of _Hermann’s Theory of Time and Space_ was waiting for his attentions like a weird tumour.

The flat was a lot different these days. Hermione’s collection of empty whiskey bottles had been vanished weeks ago, and all flat surfaces had been carefully _scourgified_. The once-empty kitchen was filled with food, bread and vegetables. A half drunk bottle of white waited for them in the fridge, though Remus had a feeling that would end up getting tipped down the drain, considering it had been open for two weeks.

“Probably never,” Remus told Harry without missing a beat. Scanning through an email from one Mr. Kraft, a man who seemed to be in the market for a contract killer instead of a private investigator, he began frowning in concern. “Harry, do the Aurors work with the Muggle police?”

“We have liaisons yes, but don’t change the subject. what the hell do you mean by _‘probably never’_?” Harry goggled. “You can’t be serious,”

“I’m perfectly serious. This bloke’s trying to hire someone to murder his Dad,” Remus turned his laptop around to show the other man the message in question.

“One thing at a time,” the other wizard shook his head. “You can’t not go back. You might end up causing Teddy to never exist,”

“I’ve been here since November and nothing’s happened,” Remus said patiently.

Stumped, Harry stared at him in open puzzlement.

“I don’t make the rules. Though to be fair, I don’t know if anybody does,” the werewolf mused. “I’m starting to think that the laws of time and space aren’t as straightforward as everyone thinks they are,”

“I suppose not,” Harry answered. Resignedly, he sat down beside his former Professor. “What’s this about a man trying to off his Dad?”

“This fellow. He’s asking for someone with weapons proficiency to be at Trafalgar Square at 3pm on Tuesday…”

***

Hermione was in the middle of a long-winded story about a new case, when Ginny’s voice announced her arrival from the other side of the front door.

“Was she coming for dinner?” Remus asked, looking doubtfully at the pile of spaghetti he had just cooked. “I don’t know if we have enough for three,”

“I don’t remember inviting her,” Hermione look confused, then worried. “Maybe it’s the kids,”  
Hurrying to the door, she let in a seething Ginny Weasley who proceeded to glare at the both of them in fury.

“Harry tells me you’re not planning on returning to the past,” she poked an accusatory finger in Remus’s direction.

“Gin, it’s not like that,” Hermione started as she shut the door.

“No, _you_ stay out of this,” Ginny commanded imperiously in a way which caused Remus’s hackles to rise. “Unless of course, _you’re_ the reason he wants to stay,”

“So what if she is?” Remus demanded testily as he wiped his hands on a rag.

“Oh for god’s…”

“Are the two of you mad?” the red-headed witch shrieked. “What if you cause Teddy to disappear? What then? Are the two of you honestly this _selfish_?”

Before his eyes, Hermione paled horribly, enough so that her scars stood out in stark contrast against her skin.

“Stop right there,” Remus growled. Stepping out the kitchen, he placed himself between Ginny and Hermione. “I’ve been here for months. Nothing’s happened,”

“Oh _that’s_ your excuse is it?” Ginny stepped menacingly towards him. “Nothing’s gone wrong so far, so everything’s going to be just _fine_?”

“What’s it to you anyway?” Remus asked angrily. “It’s not like Teddy’s your son…”

“How dare you?” Ginny hissed. “I’ve watched that child grow from an infant into the man he is today! I carried him and sang to him when he cried out for his mother! Yes, he grew up in Andromeda’s home, but who do you think took care of him when she was too wrapped up in her own sorrows to even pick up a crying child?”

That last statement gave Remus pause.

For quite some time now, he had suspected that labels aside, Harry and Ginny were more Teddy’s parents than other-him and Tonks had ever been. Which frankly, placed Ginny’s rage in reasonable context…

“‘Mione, you never used to be this irresponsible,” Ginny turned her anger towards the other witch in the room. “I can’t believe you’re just going along with this. You’re playing house with a dead man, and putting the life of his son at risk! By the way, I’m curious - have you even considered _Ron_ in all of this? He’s not been dead that long!”

“I…” Hermione stuttered and stumbled backwards. “Ginny, that’s…”

“Stop it, stop speaking right this second,” Remus snarled. “Ronald Weasley is dead and Hermione’s punished herself enough as it is. Your mother too, if I might add - Christ, do you Weasley women ever think about anyone else except yourselves?”

“That’s rich coming from…”

“Bloody hell Ginerva, use your brains will you?” he thundered. “It’s not that we’re saying nothing’s happened therefore nothing _will_. The problem is, _there is no way back_! Don’t you think we’ve looked?”

“Will the both of you shut up!” Hermione exploded.

Both Ginny and he fell silent. Turning, they regarded the shaking, apoplectic woman.

“Ginny, if Remus’s presence was going to end Teddy, it would already have happened. Not unless he fired off a killing curse at his own son, anyway, and frankly, I don’t really see that happening,” Hermione lectured. “Remus, stop yelling at my friend and start growing an empathetic bone in your body for Christ’s sake. Also, please don’t make the mistake in thinking that I can’t fight my own battles. You might think you’re being gallant, but you’re just being patronizing,”

Feeling quite deflated, Remus ran a tired hand over his face.

“Now that my appetite’s properly ruined, I’m going for a walk. Actually, I’m lying - I’m going for a stiff drink,” Hermione wrenched the front door open. “Judge me all you want, the both of you. But believe it or not, I don’t care either way,”

Slamming the door behind her, Remus was left alone with a very flushed Ginny.

“Well,” she muttered. “I suppose I could have handled that better,”

“Really?” he asked sarcastically. “You mean you shouldn’t have stormed in here, lobbing accusations at our heads like an overgrown, insensitive child?”

“Oh that’s mature,”

They shuffled in place. On the kitchen counter, the spaghetti Remus had made was becoming a sticky, lumpy mess.

“I’m off to find Hermione. Show yourself out,” he said gruffly.

“Fine,” Ginny huffed, though certainly, she seemed terribly guilty. “But Remus, if you’re staying…”

“What?” he asked irritably as he summoned his wallet.

“You should make time to go see Teddy. I think it’d mean a lot to him,” Ginny said at last.

“Alright,” he brushed past her. “Plan it and I’ll come along to meet him. Right now, I have a witch to find,”

“Remus, I didn’t mean…” Ginny’s tone softened.

“I don’t care what you _meant_ ,” he paused mid-step. “Well I _do_ I suppose. I can’t say I don’t see your point of view on the matter, but you were also rude, and unkind to Hermione…”

“Can’t I come with you?” The woman asked plaintively. “I want to apologize…”

“I don’t actually know if you need to apologize,” Remus admitted. “I have to go. I’m sorry,”

Leaving behind a contrite Ginny Weasley, the werewolf followed his nose.

***

Weeks later, on the coldest night of the year yet, Remus and Hermione walked back into her flat laughing riotously as they recounted their most recent adventure concerning a woman and her two missing cats.

One minute, Remus was affectionally brushing Hermione’s hair from her eyes; then, in the next, he found himself peeling back her coat and lifting her shirt…as she reached for the buttons on his shirt and the buckle of his belt.

Stumbling towards her bedroom, Remus lifted the woman by her waist and set her gently upon her bed.

Panting and impatient though the man was, he made sure to take his time lavishing heated kisses all over her bare skin. Kissing and scraping his teeth over the tops of her breasts, he ran his palms reverently over her slight form.

“We should…” Hermione gestured breathlessly. “We should darken the room…”

“Why?” he asked as his lips drifted further down her ribs and her belly. Carefully, he pressed his mouth to an old, puckered scar which ran down her side. “Why would I ever want that?”

Lifting her right arm, the one which Bellatrix Black had carved into with a cursed blade, Remus ran his lips over her pale scars. Frowning slightly, he couldn’t help but notice the way those scars felt strangely heated…

“You don’t have to pretend you know? That you find me beautiful or whatever,” Hermione whispered as she watched him. “I know what I look like. Ron himself used to tell me how hard it was for him to look at my scars…”

Narrowing his eyes, Remus leaned forwards and nipped possessively the crook of her neck. For the first time, it occurred to him that perhaps her marriage to Ron hadn’t been the picture-perfect union he had envisioned…

“Hermione,” his rasped. “You’re not only beautiful, you’re perfect. However, since we’re on the subject of scars…I suggest you take a good look at my body so you know exactly what it is you’re getting yourself into,”

Shifting slightly, Hermione met his gaze, before her dark eyes raked their way down the length of his body. The hungry manner by which she studied his form made Remus swallow hard in anticipation.

“I spent most of my third year wondering what you were hiding underneath those black robes…” she trailed her fingertips over his bare chest.

“Goodness Miss Granger,” Remus tsked before he vanished her panties. Twisting out of his trousers, he settled between her thighs. “And here I thought you were simply being attentive,”

“Professor,” she breathed. “Why are you still talking?”

Grinning ravenously down at her, Remus canted his hips and plunged himself into her silken depths. As one, they groaned aloud…

**

Spent and sated, they lay beside each other, basking in the glorious afterglow.

“I suppose…” he breathed after a while. “I suppose it’s time we talked a little more seriously about my future. That is, the one _here_ ,”

“Is it,” she asked lightly.

“I’m serious,”

“No, you’re _Remus_ ,” she quipped.

“Oh for fuck’s…Hermione,” he huffed. “I think we’ve established that I’m not leaving this…this reality, or what-have-you,”

“Fine. Since you’re so insistent on having a serious conversation, then perhaps it’s also time for us to start discussing Teddy, and how you’ve been actively avoiding the prospect of meeting of your own bloody son,”

Groaning, Remus buried his face into a nearby pillow.

“Fine. I’ll meet Edward Remus Lupin. God just saying his name feels ridiculous. Did I honestly name my son after _me_? How much of an ego did I gain towards the end? Why didn’t anyone stop me?”

“Remus is a very nice name. I must have repeated it dozens of times in the past half-hour,” she teased.

Tilting his gaze, he shared a silly grin with his witch.

 _His_ witch - Remus could get used to thinking of her that way. Though he supposed he had been thinking of her as his own for months now, ever since their first disastrous kiss.

“I don’t remember how that name came about. You’re very much mistaken however, if you think Tonks didn’t have a say in your son’s name,” Hermione turned onto her side. Stifling a yawn, she blinked sleepily at him.

Sighing, the man reached out and snagged a buoyant curl between his thumb and forefinger. “We can leave this city you know. We can just take off from _England_ actually, and start a new story someplace else. I hear New Zealand is very pretty,”

“Remus…” something wistful crept into her dark eyes as she regarded him solemnly from where she lay. “I can’t. _You_ can however…even if you met Teddy, even he accepted you as his father, he’s almost a full-grown man at this stage. He has no need for a full-time father. You have your whole life ahead of you, and a cure for lycanthropy in your literal pocket. You don’t have to stay here with someone as broken-down, and miserable as…”

“You said yourself, _Lupine Remedium_ not a cure,” he interrupted. It irked him that she was trying to drive him away, so soon after they had finally consummated the fire which burned between them.

“You know what I mean Remus Lupin, don’t be a smart-arse,” she shook her head.

Shifting his body so he reclined over her, the man relished the way her naked skin felt as it brushed up against his own. With no hidden expectation in his heart, Remus stated, “I love you Hermione Granger. I’m have no intention of going anywhere without you by my side,”

Carefully, she ran her fingers over the shape of his face. “Remus…I…”

“You don’t have to say anything in return,” he said softly. “Not until you’re ready,”

Hermione chewed thoughtfully at her lower lip for a second. Pressing her forefinger again his mouth, she said quietly, “I care about you, I really do. But…as it is, what’s happened here…there’s a part of me that feels as if I’ve just betrayed Ron,”

“You haven’t. You’re too smart to truly believe that,” he murmured. “However long it takes for your heart to heal, for it to become mine, as mine is already yours, I’ll wait. After all, what is time to a time-traveller?”

Nodding slowly, she brushed his sandy hair back from his forehead.

***

The establishment they brought him to wasn't a Wizarding pub, though apparently, it was Teddy's choice. Apparently, as of the past year, the boy had begun actively avoiding the magical community…which was a fact which irked and irritated his godfather to no end.

"He's been a moody prat since he started Art School, if you want the truth," Harry grumbled "I have no idea if it was what I said that set him off, or if he thinks that being artistic means he gets a free pass at being a rude git. He graduates soon though, so hopefully it passes out of his system,"

"For god's sake Harry, could you try to be a little more supportive of his choices?" Ginny asked in exasperation as they slid into a small booth.

Wisely, Remus held his tongue as he studied his surroundings.

The place was a little dark and a bit dingy, but its overall gloominess felt more contrived than anything. The clientele consisted of students from the nearby university, who were all doing their best to appear shabby, but who all clearly came from middle-class families.

Remus could not relate. For most of his own life, he and his family had lived on the borders of poverty, if only because of his unfortunately condition. Seeing these students pretend to be poor...it galled at his sensibilities in a manner he could not explain.

“I don’t mind Muggle pubs, but does Teddy actually _like_ places like this?” Remus asked as he turned towards Harry and Ginny. "I mean, he's in his twenties now isn't he? Although honestly, the way you two speak about him, he sounds like a moody teenager in spite of his age,"

"Remus..." Ginny flushed. "There's been a lot of changes since 1997, especially for the generation of children who didn't grow up fighting a war. Admittedly, Teddy's had it odder than most, what with being an orphan, more or less..."

"Teddy was an orphan, but he had the love of at least three different families," Harry barked gruffly. “I honestly don't know why he decided to go to Art School. He would have made such a brilliant Auror..."

"Stop it," Ginny said sharply. "Just bloody stop it. You know you're proud of how talented he is,”

"Who are you going to introduce me as today?" Remus interrupted. Raising his hand, he brushed self-consciously at his glamoured locks. Wearing his bright blonde hair, he might easily have passed for a Malfoy but for his false blue eyes.

"You're Remus Lupin's lovechild from Manchester," Harry grinned. "Noel,"

"Did I conceive me when I was nine?" Remus chuckled. “Tell him I'm my cousin, that's far more believable,"

"Fine, but shut up, here he comes," Ginny perked up. Waving, she called, "Ted, darling, over here,"

Turning towards the boy they insisted was his son, Remus couldn't help but stare at the skinny figure picking his way through the small dining room.

Photographs were one thing, but to see Teddy Lupin in real life was something else. In real life, Remus could see traces of his own face in the set of the boy's cheekbones and in his overall physique…

Nonetheless, it was plain to see that Edward Remus Lupin was more Nymphadora Tonks's son than he was Remus’s. This was readily apparent from his bright blue hair, his animated green eyes and his delicate jawline.

As Teddy approached, Remus's sharp eyes caught a faint tremor in the young wizard’s hands…

"Harry, Ginny," the boy said stiffly as he stopped in front of their table.

Teddy turned his attention towards Remus, who saw to his discomfiture, that they were no longer green all of a sudden. His irises were now flickering towards a pale blue.

_Odd. Tonks always had such good control of her shifting abilities._

Standing up, Remus stretched his hand out in greeting. "Hello cousin,"

"Cousin?" Teddy inquired curiously as he reached out to take his proffered hand. The way he tugged carefully at his right sleeve did not escape Remus's notice. "A bit blonder than I would have expected..."

"Yes," Harry stood up. "Noel's from Manchester. Long lost family apparently...he owled me a week ago,"

Harry, Remus decided, was shite at cover stories.

"Yes," he explained. "I was going through some old photo albums when I found pictures of uh...Remus. That was when I made the connection in my head, that the handsome bloke on that Chocolate Frog Card was actually my cousin, whom I met that one time when I was ten,"

"Oh," Teddy's frown melted slightly. "My old man didn't leave behind a fortune or anything in case that's what you're after. That posthumous Order of the Merlin fortune went towards my schooling, so I'm sorry if you travelled all this way for nothing,"

Behind him, Ginny emitted a small, embarrassed noise.

"Good thing I'm doing rather well for myself," Remus answered stiffly. God but the boy was insufferable.

"Teddy apologize to Noel," Ginny commanded. "You're being extremely rude,"

"I'm not a child..." Teddy started.

"Edward Remus Lupin," Harry gritted out. "I raised you to be better than this,"

"Which is more than can be said for my real father I suppose," Teddy rolled his eyes. "He was too busy making the world a better place to stay alive for my sake,"

“Remus sounds like he became a right twat," Remus observed. Gesturing towards the empty seat beside Ginny, he said, "I understand you're joining us for lunch,"

As the boy slid into place, his hands trembled once more.

***

Remus tried to understand the feeling in his chest as he listened to Teddy talk about his life in school. Despite all his earlier misgivings, he found himself feeling a strong, affectionate pull towards the young man.

“…pictures from my last show," Teddy explained as he scrolled through several images on his phone. "Someone bought that sculpture for a few thousand quid,"

Whistling in appreciation, Remus grinned in admiration as he surveyed his son’s work.

“That’s all very well, someone buying your work once in a blue moon," Harry grunted. "Are you really planning on spending the rest of your life _sculpting_?”

"Harry," Ginny hissed. Turning to the young man, she assured, ”Ted dear, that's gorgeous,"

"No no, Harry's entitled his opinion," Teddy rolled his eyes as he kept his phone away. “It’s time I got going anyway. I have a paper I have to turn in,”

“So soon?” Ginny sounded disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” the boy’s hair shifted to a darker shade, as dark as Sirius hair had been.

Noting the other wizard’s careless transformation in a room full of Muggles, Remus had a feeling he was seeing Teddy’s true hair colour…and that the Metamorphmagus lacked the energy to keep his transformed features at the fore.

Ted’s fingers tapped restlessly against the surface of the dining table. His other hand trembled as he raised a glass of water to his lips, and in doing so, his sleeve fell past his wrist.

Swallowing, Remus suddenly understood what he was looking at. He had seen it dozens upon dozens of times, in the shivering form of werewolves who had lost all will to live in a world which had rejected them.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Ginny admonished as she stood up and gave the boy a hug. “Promise me you’ll come by for dinner soon. Maybe this weekend? I’ll make your favourite…”

“I’ve got a show this weekend,” Teddy said quickly, his eyes now as grey as Remus’s own.

Turning towards his father - his real father -Teddy said, “It was nice meeting you cousin. Maybe if you’re still in the city this weekend, you could drop by to see my show?”

“Maybe,” Remus nodded.

“Right, bye everyone,” Teddy smiled wanly. Turning on his heel, he hurried away.

Watching him go, Remus grimaced as he tried to make sense of the world.

***

Tracking Teddy Lupin was no hardship; not for a werewolf, even in his human form.

Stopping in front of a doorway that was eerily similar to Hermione’s own, Remus wondered if he was making a mistake. Then, lifting his hand, he knocked.

“…told you, I’m done with that shite. Leave me…” Teddy said as he opened his door.

The moment the Metamorphmagus took in the face of Noel, his long-lost relative, the boy snapped his mouth shut.

For his part, Remus took in his son’s dark hair and grey eyes in silence.

“Noel,” Teddy stated flatly. “How did you find me?”

“Your father and I share more than simply genes,” Remus improvised.

“Ah,” the younger wizard nodded as understanding flooded his eyes. “What can I do for you?”

“Teddy…” Remus started. Looking around, he decided it was safe to say what he had come to say. “I know you’re using,”

The effect of his words was instantaneous. All colour leeched from Teddy’s already pale skin as he gawped at Remus. Reaching out, he yanked the werewolf indoors and warded his entrance shut.

“I don’t know what gives you the right…” the boy hissed.

“That fact that I’m your…” Remus stopped. “Teddy, we’re family. Today’s the first time we’ve ever met, but believe me, the fact that you have Lupin blood running through your veins means something to me. I saw the marks on your arm; I watched as you twitched your way through lunch…”

“I’m trying to stop dammit,” Teddy exploded. “Why do you think I won’t hang around Harry and Ginny for more than an hour? I haven’t been home in months because I didn’t want them to know,”

“Harry told me it’s because you were angry about some story about Remus…”

“Yes well…” Teddy ran long fingers through his dark hair as he began pacing restlessly. His sleeve fell away once more, exposing a long line of track marks. “I was angry, but not for the reasons Harry thinks. My father died a hero, and here I am, shooting H down my veins…”

“Are you actually trying to quit all on your own?” Remus asked, feeling guiltily relieved at the fact that his son didn’t in fact, hate him. “How are you standing? The werewolves I know with this problem…they can barely speak or function when they’ve been denied a fix, ”

“Shifting helps, when I have the strength,” Teddy sounded defeated. “I don’t know what it is, but when I’m not in my natural state, the cravings aren’t horrible. It takes energy however…”

“If you told Harry, he’d help you. I know he would,” the older wizard reached out to touch his son.

Teddy shook him off.

“If I told Harry, his heart would break into a million pieces,” he retorted. “You know nothing, Noel Lupin,”

Remus was getting unbelievably sick of people telling him he knew nothing in 2019.

“Tell Harry, or I swear, I’ll tell him,” the werewolf drew himself to his full height. “Remus Lupin would have been proud of your talent, but he would have been _ashamed_ of the way you’re squandering your family’s love,”

“What do you know about…”

“Believe me when I tell you, I _knew_ your sire. He would _not_ be pleased at the way you’re behaving,” Remus fought off the temptation to simply end the glamour Hermione had placed on him. “Tell Harry. The man loves you like a son. Yes he can be a rash, judgemental prick…”

“Hey!” Teddy reared up. “You barely know him…”

“Oh but you’d be surprised,” Remus retorted. “Edward Remus Lupin, get help, or in two days, your _real_ father will be here to drag your arse to St. Mungo’s, whether you like it or not. Do we have an understanding?”

“You’re a prick,” his son spat.

“And you’re a _junkie_ ,” Remus said tiredly. Spinning on his heel, the werewolf left the small flat.

In the dank hallway, certain that he was unwatched, Remus silently cast a few extra wards around the boy’s door, which would literally deter the steps of those who would seek to harm the young wizard. Those spells didn’t always work, but the wizard didn’t care - he had to at least _try._

Grimly, he stuck his hands in his pockets and disapparated.

***

 

By the time he made it past Hermione’s door, Remus was himself, shaking horribly.

Taking in his appearance from where she had been seated at the sofa with a book in hand, Hermione’s eyes widened in alarm.

“I take it the meeting didn’t go well,” she murmured as she hastened towards him.

Mutely, he allowed his witch to take him by the hand, and to tug him towards the sofa. Once he was seated, she stepped back and gave him a critical once over. Drawing her wand from her waistband, Hermione summoned a bar of chocolate from the kitchen.

Settling beside Remus, the woman broke a piece of candy off and waved it in his face.

“A wise man once told me to eat, because it’d make me feel better,” she smiled faintly.

“Thank you,” he said as he took the chocolate from her. “Though you should know, I wasn’t being wise that day or the train, with the dementors and all flying around...to be really honest, I was actually panicking. The sad truth is, I had no idea whatsoever, how I was supposed to cope with a gaggle of screeching, scared adolescents,”

“I guessed as much eventually, shortly after I had Hugo,” Hermione said ruefully.

“Teddy’s a drug addict,” Remus blurted out abruptly, and bit into the chocolate. The candy tasted more bitter than sweet on his tongue.

“What?” Hermione blinked as she sat back. “You can’t be…”

“I’m not joking. I’m not insane either,” he nodded. “Teddy spent the entirety of lunch trying to hide it…he’s been trying to kick it himself…I haven’t told the Potters. They don’t know…”

“You can’t not tell Harry or Ginny,” Hermione sounded genuinely upset. “Oh god, where’s my coat, I need to go over to Teddy’s…”

“Don’t,” Remus reached out to still her frantic movements. “I gave him two days to tell Harry. I warned him that if he didn’t, I would tell Harry myself,”

“Why the hell didn’t you drag him to St. Mungo’s or tell Harry _immediately_?” the woman demanded. Crossing her arms, she stalked to the window and stared out at the street.

“Because he’s not a _child_ Hermione. He’s almost a man grown, and treating him like a kid would only push him away further than he already is. You didn’t like being treated as a child at fifteen - he’s past _twenty_ for Merlin’s sake,”

Hermione tugged exasperatedly at her hair.

“It wasn’t only Ginny who cared for him you know,” she said after a moment. “I changed his nappies too. I rocked him to sleep plenty of nights. I read to him, and taught him as much as I could…when he wanted to go off to Art school, he came to me to ask for my opinion,”

“You mothered him,” Remus stated.

Turning her dark eyes back towards the street, she waved off his statement. “It wasn’t like that,”

“Yes, of course it was,” he felt faintly amused as more pieces fell together in his mind. “All of you cared for my son and became the parents he lost…which explains why he’s such a _spoiled_ bratling. I mean it Hermione, the boy has an attitude problem that’s got nothing to do with the drugs he’s coming off,”

“We might have over-compensated for your absence and given him everything he wanted. I can tell you, Rose and Hugo often used Teddy as the gold-standard by which _they_ ought to have been treated,” Hermione said with a regretful sigh. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go over to Teddy’s right now, and drag that boy over to St. Mungo’s immediately,”

“I’m his…his something…and I’m putting my damned foot down,” Remus stood up and tried to look imposing. He understood the extremely shaky ground he was currently standing on. “Besides, I’m expecting to hear from Harry about this whole matter by tonight anyhow,”

“One meeting,” she smiled wryly. “One meeting and you folded like a cheap suit. You’re finally accepting that you have a son...”

“You think you know me so well Hermione Granger,” Remus cracked a smile.

The knowledge that Hermione too, had mothered his child as an infant, went a long way towards comforting his troubled heart. In his mind’s eye, he saw Hermione as a young woman, cradling his son and reciting to him the entirety of _Hogwarts, A History._ That mental image caused his heart to ache with longing.

In a few years, when her children came of age, Rose and Hugo would come back to Hermione. Despite spending only a few hours with them at Christmas, he had seen the love they bore for their mother. Peace would someday be hers once more…

“Fine,” she dropped her arms resignedly, instantly losing her combative stance.

Closing the distance between them, Remus wrapped his arms around her waist. Without hesitation, she wound her arms around his neck. Standing on tiptoes, she pressed her lips against his own.

“I’m sorry the future’s so disappointing,” she whispered.

“It’s not so bad,” he replied as he pressed his forehead against her own. “It’ll get better. You wait and see,”

Nuzzling his nose into her curls, the man kept his eyes shut, and focused only on the faint rhythm of Hermione’s heartbeat.


	8. As Soon As I Arrive

Spring was on its way, and with it, the promise of warm summer days.

Walking hand-in-hand down Diagon Alley with Hermione, Remus wondered if this was what contentment was defined as: the absolute absence of anxiety.

It had been months since Teddy had come clean to Harry and Ginny, months since he had gotten himself checked into St. Mungo's for proper treatment. With the assistance of several potions, his son found himself recovering quickly from his self-inflicted malaise.

Despite the preference of not only Harry and Ginny, but Hermione too, Teddy insisted on remaining in his rented flat...not that Remus could blame him he supposed. Regardless, as Cousin Noel, he was now a regular visitor at Teddy's, and there had not been a single sign of a relapse.

"You're smiling like a crazy person," Hermione observed as they stopped to peruse wares set out front of a shop selling charmed kitchenware. "You're making me nervous,"

"I'm just thinking how much I'd like to take you to a particular shop in Knockturn Alley..." he murmured against her ear. "Assuming it's still there of course. They happen to sell the most interesting toys..."

"Oh for god's sake..." Hermione pushed him away. Her giggles however, betrayed her amusement. "Do keep it in your trousers Professor,"

"Keep up that 'Professor' talk Miss Granger, and I’ll start thinking about ways to give you detention,” he waggled his eyebrows suggestively as he tugged her back into his arms.

Under her spring coat, Hermione was wearing a new dress. It was high collared, but it was also yellow, flowing, and very flattering.

Remus had never been so infatuated with anyone else in his entire life.

"You're incorrigible," Hermione kissed him.

Resuming their walk, Remus spotted a concert poster which gave him pause.

"You can't be serious," he laughed in disbelief. "A werewolf band called The Howlers?"

"It's not exactly original, I’ll give you that,” Hermione frowned in confusion at his manner. "I mean, it’s _punny_ at best. Still, they’re not bad if you’re into electronic synth noises and over dramatic lyrics about love spells…we should see if tickets are available,"

“No, that’s not what I meant. Why would these boys tell anyone they're..." Remus started.

Understanding flooded Hermione's eyes. Gently, she reached up to touch his cheek. Today, he wore the face of Noel. Nonetheless, no one else, but the werewolf knew what Hermione saw when she looked at him.

"Remus...sometimes I forget you're not from...well... _now_. When I told you things have changed...I meant it. I suppose we should have come by sooner, it's my fault, keeping you in the Muggle world..."

Deciding he wasn't feeling up to telling Hermione that not _everything_ was her fault, he tugged her towards the poster. "The world can't be this open about lycanths running around...can it?"

"Trust your eyes, if not your mind," she teased. "Which frankly, isn't as sharp as I remember it being,"

"Impertinent," he shook his head. Smiling, he bent down and kissed her curls. "Thank you,"

"For what?" she asked.

Before he could respond, a young family poured out onto the pavement from a nearby restaurant. With her gaze drawn towards the children, Hermione's brow creased ever so slightly.

"It's easy to forget, during the months when Hogwarts is in session, that my children aren't mine anymore," she said quietly. Before his eyes, her radiance dimmed every so slightly.

"They're always going to be your children Hermione," he said patiently as his arms tightened around her. "Molly Bloody Weasley isn't going to change that simply because of a piece of paper,"

"Harry thinks he might be able to have them over for a few weeks this summer..." she turned back to him with a small grin. "I might be able to spend some time with them. Molly doesn't know of course...Harry and Ginny are being double-agents for my sake,"

Gazing down into her beautiful face, for a moment, Remus found himself tempted to blurt out a marriage proposal.

 _Marry me_ , he wanted to say. _Marry me and I’ll make you so happy, these last few years will become nothing more than a bad dream._

Before he could give voice to his foolishness, Hermione's mobile phone buzzed; drawing out the small device, she sighed. "It's Mrs. Ferguson. She wants to know where I am on her case,"

Studying her wistful expression as she turned her gaze back towards the laughing family, Remus forced himself to remember patience.

***

They had spent a week chasing down a lead on a man who had literally absconded with the family jewels. Despite the fact that the pillock was a Muggle, somehow, he had managed to escape their efforts for days. Had it not been for a careless Facebook post, Remus and Hermione might probably still have been chasing their proverbial tails.

Collapsing through the door on Wednesday night at four in the morning, Remus had just finished removing his glamour, when Harry's _Patronus_ dashed in through the bedroom walls.

"Shit," Hermione swore, summing up his sentiments in one word.

"Teddy's been arrested," Harry's voice was filled with worry. "He got picked up earlier tonight after he got into a fight with a drug dealer,"

"Idiot," Remus said succinctly and angrily.

"Yell at him later" Hermione reprimanded.

Forced into wakefulness, Remus paid attention to Harry's careful instructions.

***

The station was empty, which made their jobs far easier than otherwise it would have been.

Teddy had been picked up shortly after one a.m., which meant that there were only about three or four officers working the graveyard shift...and which meant there were less people to _obliviate_.

"I honestly think you should consider letting him face the consequences of his stupidity," Remus had argued the moment they met Harry in an alley beside the station.

"Teddy wasn't trying to buy drugs. He was trying to fend off the fellow who was trying to sell him drugs," Harry sounded frustrated. "I think he's suffered enough for his actions in recent weeks, don’t you?"

"I'm not leaving your son in jail," Hermione whispered harshly. "Do you know what kind of people they have locked up in there? Drunks, gangsters and thieves! Teddy has never been a fighter, not even when he has a wand on him,"

Making a noise of resigned annoyance, Remus gestured towards the station. "Let's get on with this,"

***

While Harry and Hermione dealt with the necessary memory charms out front, Remus sneaked directly towards the holding cells.

Teddy's grey eyes widened as he caught sight of him.

" _Alohomora,_ " Remus cast at the door.

The other prisoners were all passed out. As Hermione had predicted, the population of the cell was comprised largely of drunks.

"N-Noel?" Teddy stuttered. Then, "Not Noel is it?"

It was only at that moment that Remus realized both he and Hermione had been too tired to re-cast his usual glamour they both usually utilized hide his real features.

Not that he cared. Furiously, Remus ground out. "Get your sorry arse out of there. We'll talk later. About everything,"

"Oh my god, you're my Dad," Teddy shuffled forwards. The boy was caught between excitement and mortification. "This entire time, you've been my Dad,"

"Yes," Remus said very shortly.

Feelings warred within him. On one hand, it felt good for his son to finally see him as who he really was. On the other...he was still livid at the boy's foolishness.

"Shitshitshit..." Teddy said as he finally stepped out of the cell. "Shit I can't believe...how? Oh christ, I can't believe this is how I'm finding out!"

"You mean after you got arrested on charges of drug possession and getting into fisticuffs with a lowlife?" Remus demanded.

The boy had the grace to look embarrassed.

"I told Harry that you should have been left here to suffer the consequences of your behaviour," Remus said. To his own surprise, he sounded a lot like his own father, lecturing him on his behaviour in school. "But unlike me, he feels you've suffered quite enough,"

Harry's low voice muttered from the shadowy passage behind Remus, "Mind you Ted, I had half a mind to listen too,"

Turning, Remus spotted the other two hurrying in the direction of the Lupin boys.

Drawing out a Portkey, Harry held it between the four of them. "Your records been deleted from the system, and the authorities have no idea you were ever arrested. The scumbag you roughed up - we adjusted his arrest record too so no one knows who he’d been fighting with. It's time we left,"

Nodding miserably, Teddy rested his fingers against the rusty old harmonica Harry used as his Portkey home.

"I supposed this isn't the right time to make a 'Teddy has two daddies' joke'," Hermione pondered.

"No," Harry and Remus both barked at once.

Looking unrepentantly amused despite the situation, Hermione reached out and pressed a comforting hand to Teddy’s miserable face.

Magic tugged at their bellies.

***

They were greeted by a weeping Ginny, who was beside herself with distress.

Standing beside Hermione, Remus watched as Harry squeezed Teddy’s shoulder, while exchanging quiet words with him.

“I’m so tired, I think I could sleep for a month,” Hermione murmured as she slumped against his arm.

“We should get home...” Remus said reluctantly.

“Don’t you want to stay so you can talk to Teddy?” Hermione eyed him knowingly.

Across the room, his son was casting him beseeching stares.

“I do,” Remus nodded slowly. “But I...”

As if on cue, Teddy began to approach warily. Without another word, Hermione reached up on tiptoes and kissed the werewolf’s cheek. Waving tiredly at everyone in the room, she made a quick exit.

“Hello,” Teddy greeted uncomfortably.

“Yes. Hello,” Remus stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Finally, cracking a half-smile, Teddy said, “So…you and Aunt Hermione then? You know when I was eight, I told her I was going to marry her,”

Remus snorted, though he could feel his cheeks flushing. “She’s taken,”

“This is too weird...” Teddy laughed shortly as he ran his hand through his suddenly pink hair. “Harry said you’re from 1997. That’s before I was even born...”

“Yes,” Remus cleared his throat. “My brain might have melted at the beginning when they told me I had a son...who was in his twenties,”

“Don’t suppose you brought Mum with you,” Teddy joked shakily.

“Tonks? No...” Remus let his gaze fall to the ground.

“Good thing I suppose. Merlin...you must be so disappointed in me,” his soon hunched in on himself as his eyes shifted to a stormy green...a shade not unlike Harry’s, actually.

“I’m not disappointed,” Remus protested. Then he amended, “Alright, just a little. But only because I care about you, and I don’t fancy the thought of you tossing your life away,”

“How could you care about me when you barely know me?” Teddy asked. There was no recrimination in the question, only sincere curiousity.

“Blood calls to blood. Maybe because we’re magic? I don’t know...” Remus shook his head. “All I know is, the moment I saw you, I knew - deep inside my soul - that you were every inch my son. And that’s no small thing,”

“I thought you were familiar but I simply figured it’s because you were ‘cousin’ Noel,” Teddy mused. “Do you know...I always used to fantasize about meeting you. Tonight was...”

“Unfortunate,” Remus supplied helpfully.

“Right,” the younger wizard made a face. “Harry wants me to move back here. Or at least, back to Godric’s Hollow,”

“I can’t say that’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” the werewolf admitted. “I’ve seen recovering addicts. You keep going to parties where drugs keep flowing, it won’t be long before you get dragged back under. Being here...it’ll help, I think. It’ll remind you that you have parents who care about you,”

“Harry and Ginny aren’t...”

“Don’t you dare. I might be your sire, but Harry’s been your _real_ father your entire life. That much is obvious to anyone with eyes,” Remus admonished. “I’ve never changed a single diaper. Also, you should be aware - I’m going to marry the woman you were courting when you were eight,”

“Does _she_ know?” Teddy quirked a blue eyebrow.

“Not yet...”

“I’ve not seen Aunt Hermione smile in a long time. Or heard her as she cracked a joke,” Teddy observed. “I’ve always heard my Dad was a good man, and that he was good at making people happy...you have no idea what it means to me, to see that it’s all true,”

“You’re going to give me a big head,” Remus said drily.

“I don’t know if this is a dream, or if I’m so high I’m hallucinating...” Teddy sighed. “But I hope I’m not dreaming...and that you’re not going back to the past or whatever...”

There were no promises Remus could make that would feel true...not when he himself wasn’t convinced that perhaps everything he had experienced in recent months, was nothing more than a strange, wonderful dream.

Pulling Teddy into a hug, Remus let his actions speak for his heart.


	9. I Fade Into The Thought

September drew to a close, but still, the warm weather persisted.

In the bright light of the morning sun, as Remus pressed lazy kisses to Hermione’s bare shoulder, the woman said rather abruptly,

“I love you,”

Smiling against her skin, he raised his head to meet her gaze.

“I know,” he replied even as she raised her left hand to card her fingers through his sandy hair. On her fourth finger, her old wedding ring gleamed. Remus had no intention of ever asking her to remove it; not even when he presented her with the ring he had stashed in his sock drawer.

“Remus, this…” she paused. “It still feels like a betrayal but…”

“It’s not,” he shook his head. “The Ron Weasley I knew had a big heart. He would have wanted you to be happy,”

“Not without throwing a fit first,” she scoffed.

“Oh?” he shifted to lay beside her, sensing that lovemaking would have to wait. “Before you continue…”

Leaning in close, he kissed her, slowly and deeply.

“I love you too,” he said after a while.

“Silly man,” Hermione smiled as she ran a thumb across his cheekbone. “Are you sure this is what you want? A broken down, scarred woman who can barely function in society?”

“Hermione Jean Granger…” Remus sighed. “You are everything I have always wanted, without ever knowing it to be so,”

The way she looked under the rays of the morning light, how her hair gleamed almost golden, how her eyes were soft with almost-unfettered affection…the memory of it would stay with him forever.

***

“Are you sure you don’t need me to come along on this one?” Remus punctuated his question with a sneeze.

The werewolf had a soft blanket wrapped around him, and his nose was red as a mocked reindeer’s own; fitting, considering it was November, and Christmas was around the corner.

“Remus, I was chasing down leads long before you stumbled into 2018,” Hermione rolled her eyes as she tugged on her scarf.

“Not half as well,” he sniffed haughtily as he poked at the kettle with his wand. Immediately, steam begin to rise from its spout. “I bring with me a specialized skillset,”

“You smell things better,” his witch rolled her eyes. Giving him a critical once over, she stepped into the kitchen. “Are you sure you don’t need to go see a Healer? Werewolves don’t get colds,”

“How would you know?” Remus demanded. “I’ve had plenty of colds in my life,”

“I had to write an essay about lycanthropy in my third year,” Hermione began checking off items on her fingers. “I did extensive research into werewolf biology during the years I spent developing _Lupine Remedium_ …”

“Good god, Severus was right about you. You really are an insufferable know-it-all,” he tucked the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “I think I would know if this is more serious than just a cold. Stop worrying will you? You’re keeping Mrs. Fletcher waiting. You got the email I forwarded with the missing girl’s picture, and the address you’re meeting this woman at yeah?”

“Yes yes, I checked and triple checked my inbox…god. You’re such a nag…” Hermione sighed, then yelped as Remus tugged her in so she rested flush against the padded surface of his body.

“I’m a sexy nag and you love it,” he grinned. Knowing he wouldn’t actually be passing her anything, he dipped his head down and slanted his mouth over her own. In his arms, Hermione melted almost immediately.

“Now I _really_ don’t want to go,” she murmured.

“Go,” he laughed. “Go so you can come home quickly. I love you,”

“I love you too,” she said, cupping one hand to his cheek. “I’ll see you soon I guess…”

Pressing one last kiss to her forehead, Remus finally relinquished hold on her.

Behind him, the kettle began to whistle like a clarion.

***

The moment Hermione was gone, Remus swallowed the antidote which immediately cleared up his ‘symptoms’. After choking down the sour liquid, he took his monthly dose of _Lupine Remedium._

Dragging on his old coat - really, it was time he bought a new one - and charming his hair and eyes back to blonde and blue, he skipped down the stairs and out the building. Cheerily, he ambled down the street and headed directly for the supermarket.

After an hour spent picking out all the ingredients he needed for the perfect meal, the wizard made a stop at the florist.

Humming aloud as he picked out a bouquet of roses, he was quite obliviously happy about absolutely everything, when reality began to shatter.

Tilting his gaze up at a row of garish photo frames, Remus spotted an image which caused his blood to freeze within his veins.

“Did you like that frame?” the young woman behind the counter nearby asked. “It’s very modern isn’t it?”

Except Remus wasn’t staring at the frame itself. It was the picture in it that held his attention. The girl in the photo...she was the same person whose image was sent to Granger Investigations, by the woman Hermione had only just gone off to meet...

The mousy-haired, brown eyed missing girl didn’t exist.

Remus didn't waste a second; he also didn't care that he was in front of a Muggle. Taking a step to the left, he apparated to the front door of the flat he shared with Hermione. Dropping his burdens, he sprinted upstairs towards the place he had called home for the past year.

Bursting through the door, he careened towards the laptop and logged in. Frantically, he searched for the email he had forwarded to Hermione earlier, all the while cursing himself for not having invested in a proper mobile phone.

Staring at the address, it finally registered with Remus, how close to the Leaky Cauldron the agreed-upon meeting place was. As the blood drained from his face, with a wave of his wand, he lifted the anti-apparition wards he had set months ago. With a soft pop, he was elsewhere.

***

The pub was noisy for a weekday afternoon. Try as he might, Remus could not put an end to the effects of _Lupine Remedium_ ; he could not pick out Hermione's scent from the mass of humanity crowding the dim establishment.

Irritating several waitresses, he hurried through the place, desperately seeking any sign of his witch.

Then, his eyes fell on her...the client that is. He recognized Mrs.Fletcher from the picture of herself she had sent.

The woman sat alone in a booth, muttering in confusion to herself. Blue eyes darted back and forth as if she had no idea where she was, and what she was doing there.

"Where's Hermione," he gritted out as he strode towards her.

"W-who?" she stuttered up at him. "The w-woman? The one w-who met me?"

"Yes," Remus's heart sank.

"I...he told me...he said..."

"Who said?" he fought off the urge to shout. Judging from her symptoms, woman had likely been placed under the _Imperius_ curse, if not worse.

"T-the man m-made m-me bring her t-through the b-back door..." Mrs. Fletcher - if that was even her bloody name - stuttered.

Running as fast as he very human legs could go, Remus dashed towards the back exit with his wand at the ready. Pushing his way out into a dingy back alley, the werewolf looked frantically this way and that, before his attention settled on the very last thing he wanted to see.

On the dirty ground, Hermione lay, struggling to breathe; brown eyes clouded by pain met his own, horrified gaze.

"Remus..." she croaked. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

"Hermione," he rasped as he came to his senses. Falling towards her, he cradled her in his arms.

Silky chestnut curls were covered in grim and blood; something sticky pooled below her left breast.

"I killed..." she wheezed, looking to her right.

Flicking his gaze, Remus saw that he had mistaken another human body for a pile of rubbish.

For the first time, he cursed _Lupine Remedium_ and all its blasted, useless side effects.

"I killed the...the m-man that killed R-Ron..." she smiled at him, though it was a smile filled with grief. "...who k-killed me..."

"He hasn't killed you," he shook his head. Lifting his wand, he began to cast one healing spell after another.

"Re...mus..." her breath hitched. "I l-love y-you..."

"Please," he begged. "Hold on,"

Remus could feel Hermione's body growing lighter in his arms with every passing second. It was almost as if her soul was leaving her earthly shell behind.

"I...am g-glad e-everyday...you c-came to m-me..." she coughed.

Scarlet stained her scarf.

"You're going to live," he told her. "You're going to live, and you're going to marry me. Listen, I even have a ring, it's waiting for you in my sock drawer...

"Remus," her voice was filled with broken kindness.

“Please just stay," he implored.

"I w-would h-have liked that..." her eyes slid shut. “To be yours forever…I’m s-sorry love…”

"Hermione, please…come back…” he sobbed.

The witch in his arms didn't have an answer. It took him twenty minutes to fully understand that she never would have an answer for him ever again.


	10. Maybe I Could Forget This Town

It was three in the morning.

Hermione's wedding ring sat heavy in his pocket, beside the recipe for _Lupine Remedium_ his witch had stuffed in there a year ago. True to her promise, that piece of parchment had remained safely ensconced within the woollen depths of his coat over the last twelve months.

Over the course of the night, he had tried several times to burn the damned thing…and all that happened, was that it appeared back in his pocket again and again, whole and undamaged . His witch had been nothing if not meticulous in her casting.

Walking through the town of Hogsmeade, Remus traced his steps towards a path he knew well. Distantly, it registered that time had not truly touched this place, which was every bit as small and quaint as he remembered. Christmas lights illuminated his path, along with the glow of a full moon.

Approaching the Shrieking Shack, he noted the fact that it had become a war monument of sorts. A thrill of panic coursed through him, as it occurred to him that the passage into the castle might have been sealed.

If the tunnel was sealed, how was he ever supposed to get in? He needed Albus’s wisdom. Dead though the man was, his portrait still hung in his office - Hermione had told him so.

Steeling his resolve, he crossed the threshold of a rotten door and entered the house.

" _Lumos,_ " Remus whispered.

By the dim light of his wand, the man stumbled towards the doorway that would take him into the castle.

Uttering a familiar spell, he smiled grimly as the door swung open.

***

In the familiar hallway outside the Headmaster…no, Headmistress’s office, Remus gritted his teeth as he did his best to think up what manner of password Minerva McGonagall might use, to protect her sanctum.

Unlike Albus, McGonagall didn’t favour sweets.

Stepping up to the gargoyle, he whispered, “Snitch,”

Nothing.

“Bludger,” he tried again

On and on Remus spoke, exhausting just about every Quidditch term he knew. Finally, as a last resort, he rasped the most insipid word he could think of.  
“Cup,”

To the wizard’s surprise, the Gargoyle lumbered slowly to the side. Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Remus dashed through the doorway and up a familiar set of stairs. Stepping into the Headmistress’s office, he cast his eyes about, and found at last, the face he was looking for.

“Albus,” he breathed.

“Mr. Lupin,” Blue eyes twinkled from behind half-moon glasses.

Remus approached the portrait, tucking his coat firmly around him.

“I must say, I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Dumbledore’s portrait told him, sounding vaguely amused. “Mostly because I thought you’ve been dead these twenty years past,”

“I don’t like this,” Severus’s likeness drawled to the side. “Necromancy is a filthy…”

“It’s not Necromancy,” Remus growled. “Albus, in Hermione Granger’s third year, you gave her a time-turner…”

“Merlin’s saggy balls,” Phineas Nigellus exclaimed. “Is that what’s happening?”

“Remus…” Albus sat up in his chair. Whatever smile he had worn before, it was now gone. “Start from the top…”

“I don’t have time,” Remus gritted out. “I can’t stay here, I have to save…”

“Lupin, what the hell have you done?” Snape demanded. Even dead, the man was insufferable.

“Nothing,” Remus felt half-crazed. “Nothing, do you understand? But I can do _something_. Please Albus, I have to go back, I have to save her,”

“Time-turners go backwards, never forwards,” Albus pondered. “How did you get here?”

“There was a cupboard,” Remus paused. “But I destroyed it by accident,”

“A cupboard…” Albus sat back. “Fascinating…and you’re sure you destroyed it?”

“Yes,” Remus stared out a window at the full moon. It looked golden and lovely. “I saw the splinters…”

“Mr. Lupin,” the painting said. “I would look again if I were you,”

Swivelling his gaze, Remus’s brow creased in consternation. “Why?”

“There are few cupboards in this world that transport a man the way this one transported you,” Albus steepled his fingers. “These things can be damaged Mr. Lupin, but utter destruction? The odds that you have done such a thing is unlikely at best,”

“Is it safe to tell him this?” Severus hissed as he rose to his feet in his own frame. “What if he goes back and destroys everything we have worked for?”

Ignoring his old nemesis, Remus asked. “Albus, wouldn’t a time-turner…”

“After Miss. Granger’s third year, the device was returned to the Ministry, and as I understand it, they were all destroyed in an ensuing battle. A battle I believe _you_ fought in,” Albus’s blue eyes were grave. “But…I also have a feeling a time-turner wouldn’t serve you the way you need it to,”

“Why not?” Remus demanded. “Are you telling me that my hope lies in a broken cupboard?”

“ _Hope,” Albus echoed as he stared hard at the werewolf. “Hope is it? Mr. Lupin…find_ the cupboard,”

“All I want is to go back a day…”

The man was begging, but he had no idea to whom or what he was applying his pleas towards. The dead wizards in this castle couldn’t help him, he saw that now. And there was no god that had ever heard his prayers.

“Remus,” Albus said. The werewolf looked up; he couldn’t remember the last time Albus Dumbledore called him by his first name.

“Listen to me…find the gateway from whence you came. Perhaps…perhaps you’ll find you can save your love yet…truly save her,”

“Even if I found the cupboard, whose to say that it won’t spin me onwards to another future?” Remus asked in despair. “I don’t want the future Albus. I don’t want a world without Hermione in it,”

“Hold on to that last thought,” the dead Headmaster urged. Close by, Severus’s sharp eyes swivelled towards the man he had served to his own death. “Hold on _tightly_ Remus…and trust me one last time…”

***

Dawn was filtering through the clouds overhead by the time he stood outside Borgin and Burkes.

The shop was still empty, and locked up.

Waiting outside its doors with a disillusionment spell cloaking his presence, Remus wondered distantly, how Harry must be coping. He wondered if even now, Hermione lay in some cold, white room, being dressed and prepared.

Rose and Hugo…James’s son would have found them by now. To tell them…

A middle-aged man who looked almost familiar ambled up to the shop. He didn’t look particularly dangerous, or dark, just tired and sleepy. Actually, he didn’t look much like a wizard at all, in his jeans and his plaid shirt.

Using a set of keys that didn’t look charmed or spelled for extra security, the person who must have been Borgin’s son, or even grandson, pushed his way into the shop. Silently, Remus slipped in after.

Ignoring the shopkeep, Remus strode towards the back of Borgins and Burkes, towards where he had first arrived in 2018. Sweeping his grey eyes over the dim space, he could feel _Lupine Remedium_ pulling back, giving way once more to his more-than-human senses.

Despite the fact that he had doubted Albus Dumbledore, despite the fact that his world had only just ended, Remus found himself slightly embarrassed when he caught sight of the cupboard standing in its corner, whole and undamaged.

Padding quietly towards the large piece of furniture, he took note of the etchings. This time, he would remember what it looked like…the tree, the branches…the scampering likeness of a sharp-toothed squirrel...

Reaching out with shaking hands, Remus pulled open the beautiful wooden doors. Staring into the inky dark, instinct told the werewolf that the cupboard would not return him to the past by one day alone…

“Hello?” the shopkeeper called towards the back, finally noticing that he wasn’t necessarily alone. “Whose there?”

For a second, Remus thought of Teddy, the boy who was his son. If he went back now, he would possibly be ensuring that his boy wouldn’t exist. Knowing what he now knew, Remus doubted he could ever fall in bed with Nymphadora Tonks…

“ _Homenum Revelio_ ” Borgin’s descendent cast.

Not stopping to think, Remus ducked into the cupboard and shut the doors behind him.

 _Teddy_ , he mourned in the darkness.

“Forgive me,” he said aloud.

***

Remus strode out of the cupboard with his wand raised, and his face streaked with tears.

“Who…how did you…?” Borgin exclaimed from where he had been organizing a shelf. He looked pale with fright as he stared at the werewolf.

Disarming the shopkeep, Remus knew the experiment had worked. Too well.

“What year is this?” he barked anyway as he advanced upon the frail old man.

“What do you mean what year is this?” Borgin asked in consternation. “Where did you even come from? The doors are all locked, and even if you broke in I would have…”

“Answer the question dammit!” the werewolf growled, at the end of his patience and his kindness.  
“It’s 1998! It’s spring time if that makes a difference!” Borgin’s hands shot up in the universal sigh of surrender. “Please don’t kill me!”

1998\. Spring 1998.

One whole year in the future, for one whole year in the past…Hermione had never once mentioned that he’d gone missing for an entire year...

Still it was May 1998, which could only mean Hermione was still alive. True, she would only be eighteen…

...but he could stop her from getting killed, or even getting hurt as she did in the war. He could save her from losing her family, and her children…

“You’re Remus Lupin,” Borgin said after a moment, squinting at him in the dim light. “Everyone thought you were dead!”

“Surprise,” Remus quipped.

With a sharp jerk of his wand, the shopkeep lay petrified at his feet. Taking the older wizard’s wand, the werewolf blasted open the back door.

He supposed he could find the other Order members…but who was he to find? Moody? Who would doubtlessly grill him to death. There was Kingsley, he supposed…or Molly.

The thought of seeking Molly Weasley for help left a taste of bile in Remus’s throat. Combing his memories, he recalled now that Bill Weasley had been the one whom Harry, Ron and Hermione had turned to for refuge during the war.

Concentrating on the image of a cottage by the sea, the one he had helped Bill ward back in 1997 in preparation for the other man’s new bride, Remus took a step to the right.


	11. Maybe I Should Get Out

Except even in this era, he was far too late to save his witch from certain horrors.

Sitting in Bill’s kitchen, after his initial interrogation by the rest of the Order, Remus tried to focus on the fact that he could smell the distinct scent of wild honey and magic from somewhere in the cottage…along with the familiar, unpleasant scent of Hermione’s blood.

“…zero memory of where you were taken?” Bill demanded. “It’s not that I’m not pleased to see you alive and well, but you have to admit, it’s all rather odd,”

In the year he had been gone, Bill Weasley had gone and gotten himself half-infected with lycanthropy. Sitting with him and speaking with him felt like an odd meeting between kindreds.

“In case you think being obliviated is much fun, I can assure you, it’s not,” Remus retorted testily, doing his best not to brush everyone aside for the sake of seeking out his witch.

Who wasn’t _his_. Not now, not in this time.

Hermione was currently eighteen, and he was currently old enough to be her father. He had to remember that.

At the bottom of his coat pocket, a gold ring continued to weigh heavily...the ring Ron Weasley would one day present to the witch in question.

Charlie Weasley regarded him suspiciously. “What did you tell the enemy?”

“I don’t know,” Remus repeated, already regretting his story. “What part of being _obliviated_ do you not understand? Unless you’re implying that I might have willingly betrayed us of course…”

The notion of regurgitating the truth of his life in the past year didn’t seem like it was such a good idea. Not unless he wanted to spend time in the padded rooms of St. Mungo’s.

“No one is saying that,” Bill raised a placating hand. “It’s just a shock to see a man come back from the dead,”

Remus almost laughed at those words.

“Herm…Hermione,” he started cautiously. “Harry, and Ron…they’re here?”

“How do you…?” Charlie straightened.

“He’s a werewolf idiot,” Bill sighed. “He can smell them better than I can,”

“Oh,” the younger Weasley boy deflated. “Yes. They’re in bed. The boys are fine, but Hermione’s been…”

“Hurt,” Remus finished, as something heavy settled in his belly.

“Yes,” Bill nodded unhappily. “They were captured, and Bellatrix and Fenrir…they tortured her,”

This wasn’t a story he wanted to hear again, the older wizard thought. But he didn’t really have a choice; he had to pretend this was the first he was learning of such a horror.

On and on Bill spoke, of Hermione’s wounds. Of the scars Bellatrix Black had left in her arm. They spoke of a dead house elf, and other prisoners who had been tortured to death. They told him that the world he had left behind, had fallen completely to darkness…

Holding his tongue, Remus swallowed away what assurances he had to give, that none of this was forever. Then, more than a little belatedly, he remembered…

He was due to die. In days.

“…good thing to happen is my son,” Charlie finished, interrupting Remus’s thoughts.

“Your son?” Remus asked blankly. Searching his memories, he couldn’t remember if Charlie had been married when last he was in this era.

“I was actually here to tell Bill the good news when you showed up,” the Dragon tamer grinned tiredly. “Bill’s an uncle. Tonks is deliriously happy about our little Teddy,”

“Teddy?” the older wizard gaped. “As in, _Edward_ , after Tonks’s father? You’re with Tonks?”

“Indeed,” Charlie’s smile faded. “Edward Charles Weasley…shit. I just realized. You and Tonks…”

The first thought which entered Remus’s head at that moment, was this: Teddy’s middle name must have been _Tonks’s_ idea.

Then, dizzying relief raced through his veins as he understood the wider implications. Teddy was still alive somewhere in the future…except the young man’s father wasn’t him. Not anymore.

“No,” Remus shook his head. “No, it wasn’t like that,”

“Oh,”

The menfolk stared awkwardly at each other.

“Might I see…” _Hermione_. “Them? Harry, Ron and Hermione that is…”

“They’re in bed,” Bill sighed. “They’re worn to the bone. Hermione will live, and she will be fine, but she lost so much blood…”

Deciding to bide his time, the werewolf said nothing.

“Tomorrow, we’ll tell the rest of the Order you’re back,” Bill brightened. “Mum will be over the bloody moon. Hell, with my new nephew, and with you come back from the dead…perhaps our luck’s finally looking up. Good things come in threes after all,”

Wondering if it would hurt very much when Antonin Dolohov struck his killing blow, Remus nodded.

***

The house had fallen quiet, and the only thing that stirred under its eaves was him. Stealing down the corridor, Remus stopped in front of a particular door, knowing exactly who lay behind it.

How often had he revelled in her scent, as they sat beside each other on her transfigured sofa, working on new cases? How many times had he filled his lungs with her, as they lay in bed together on lazy weekend mornings?

Laying his forehead against the woodgrain of the door, he reminded himself forcefully that the woman on the other side wasn’t _exactly_ the same Hermione he was in love with. But she was alive, and he ought to give thanks for that, if nothing else.

Mustering what resolve he had left, Remus was about to leave, when he heard a painfully familiar sound. Hermione was crying, and thrashing in her sleep.

Without meaning to, he twisted the door handle on his right and crossed the threshold into the room.

There, laying on the bed was his former student, weeping in misery.

Slowly, he approached her bedside. Dropping to one knee, he reached out and grasped at her hand, willing her to take what strength he had to offer.

“Hermione,” he whispered brokenly.

Brown eyes fluttered open as her movements stilled. Raising a bandaged arm, the witch swept her curls from her face and turned to look at him.

“Professor,” she whispered in wonder. “I’m still dreaming…”

“No,” he shook his head. “No you’re not…”

“It’s a good dream,” she assured.

Those were the exact words she had said to him, the first night he had ever spent in 2018.

“Sleep,” he told her, even as her fingers tightened around his palm. “I’ll be here. I’ll watch over you,”

“I missed you. Odd thing to say, I know, but it’s true nonetheless,” she yawned tiredly as her eyes closed once more. “Perhaps you’re a ghost, or a figment of my imagination...whatever you are, it’s good to see you Professor,”

“Remus,” he told her. “My name is Remus,”

Turning her head, she fell back to sleep, though her hand continued to squeeze tightly at his own. Sliding into a position he knew well, he settled at her bedside, and waited for dawn to break.

***

“Professor,” The familiar cadence of Hermione’s voice broke through his dark dreams.

Stirring from where he had fallen asleep on the ground, he looked up into a familiar pair of dark eyes.

“I had such a terrible dream,” he murmured hazily as his lips tipped into a relieved smile. “I dreamt that you had been taken from…”

Before he could finish his sentence, his brain finally caught on to the fact that this Hermione’s hair had no trace of grey in it. Her eyes were yet unlined, and there was no red scar slashed across her neck.

Grief and disappointment took him like a tidal wave.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be here,” he trembled as he rose to his feet.

“No, Professor, you’re here! You’re not dead!” the witch threw her sheets off and scrambled after him.

“That seems to be the popular opinion,” Remus muttered, pausing in his movements to regard the young woman.

“How?” she reached out to stop him from leaving. The touch of her small hand on his wrist made Remus wish he was a worse man than he was.

“I don’t know,” he looked towards the open door and shook himself from her grasp. “I was _obliviated_ ,”

“Oh,” she wrung her hands. “Professor…”

“Remus. Just Remus,” he interrupted. No matter the gulf that now separated himself from Hermione, he couldn’t bear the thought of her calling him by anything else that wasn’t his name.

“Remus…” she smiled slightly. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you. Does Harry know? He would be so thrilled!”

“Not yet,” he turned on his heel.

“Actually…why _were_ you in here?” the witch questioned from behind.

“I heard you crying,” he said truthfully. “I couldn’t…I wanted to know you were safe. I must have fallen asleep,”

Pink embarrassment coloured her smooth cheeks, he noted as he snuck a glance in her direction.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “Don’t…don’t tell the others. Harry’s already guilty as hell,”

Nodding jerkily, Remus left her alone.

***

The next morning, he was careful to leave her bedside before she awoke.

***

As the three of them prepared to leave, Remus shrugged on his old coat and stood stubbornly in front of the Golden Trio.

“Another wand can’t hurt,” he said determinedly.

“This mission is…” Harry looked uncertain.

“Oh come on Harry, he’s right,” Ron begged. “We can’t keep relying on just us and a goblin. Look where it’s gotten us?”

Crossing his arms, Remus tried not to let his gaze linger too long on Hermione, who was worrying anxiously at her bottom lip.

“Remus, you only just got back from whatever horrible thing happened to you,” she said softly. “This is dangerous. You should stay here and…”

“Like hell,” he snorted.

Before his eyes, the witch’s brow creased in annoyance, and for a moment, he forgot again that she wasn’t his Hermione.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” he informed her.

“I never realized you could be so hard-headed,” she groused in aggravation.

“There’s lots of things you don’t know about me,” he made a face at her. “I’m not an open book you know,”

“No, but I’d probably like you better if you were,” Hermione shook her head in exasperation. A fond smile played at the corner of her lips.

Remus could see Ron frowning in confusion as he observed their interaction. Remembering himself, the werewolf repeated, “I’m coming with you,”

“Fine,” Harry sighed. “Fine,”

***

The bank heist should have ended in their flaming deaths, yet Remus found himself alive and well…and facing down the prospect of the battle he knew would kill him.

Standing in the middle of the castle, Ron Weasley muttered something about house elves of Hogwarts, and how they ought to be warned so they could escape. In a flash, Hermione was flinging her arms around the boy-wizard. Happily, Ron threw away the Basilisk fangs and broomstick he was holding.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Remus understood that this was history playing itself out before his eyes; this was Hermione’s life, starting.

“It was the battle that did it,” his own Hermione had told him months ago, as winter gave way to spring. They had been walking home after a simple case which involved a cheating wife and a sports car. “He wanted to warn the house elves, which meant he’d actually been paying attention to all the things I had been trying to say. That was when I knew I loved him. So I kissed him,”

“Very romantic,” he had said then with all sincerity. After all, it wasn’t as if he had any right whatsoever, to be jealous of a dead man…

In the present, Remus took a deep breath. Trampling the urge to rip Ron Weasley away from the witch, he forced himself to remember _when_ he was. Instead, he opened his mouth to warn them, to tell them of what they had to be prepared for…he was ready to finally reveal to them where he had really been for the past year, if only to save the woman he loved from a lifetime of grief and heartache.

“Hermione,” Ron reached up to cup her face.

The witch startled. Flicking her gaze briefly towards her surrounding companions, she became incongruously awkward.

Oddly enough, Remus caught her flushing guiltily when their eyes met for a brief millisecond.

"Is _this_ really the right moment for a snog fest?” Harry asked plaintively.

“Ron…” she started placatingly.

“‘Mione, we might not…”

“Ron, we have an audience, and I think…” her tone was gentle. “I would really like it if…”

In response, the red-headed wizard’s face grew red with embarrassment and a tinge of anger. Pettily, he spat, “Fine. Fine, let’s wait until we’re _dead_ ,”

“You’re not serious,” Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “Ron wha…”

“No, I understand,” Ron interrupted. “We can’t kiss in front of bloody _Harry_ ,”

“No,” Harry said flatly. “Nope. Just…no,”

James’s son ran off to find the Dark Lord with a level of enthusiasm which surprised the werewolf.

“For god’s sake,” Hermione exploded. “ _This_ is exactly why we’ve never tried for anything more,”

“I’m going after Harry,” the boy muttered.

The witch’s expression morphed into regret and distress as she watched her best friend run from her.

Shocked, Remus dug his right hand into his jacket pocket. To his relief, the ring he had taken from her finger twenty-one years in the future was still there.

“Hermione, there’s something you should know,” he started. “It’s important, it’s about…”

Something exploded overhead. Screams filtered through the cavernous, ancient halls of Hogwarts.

“Not _now_ Remus,” she wiped angrily at her cheeks and began to run. “We have a world to save,”

Swearing under his breath, he followed after her with every intention of making his last minutes count.

***

He remembered his promise to Harry, and indirectly, to Ginny.

Remus shoved Fred aside from more killing curses than he could count, even as he sent more than a few Death Eaters into the afterlife. That is, when he wasn’t guarding Hermione’s back. In the heat of battle, he forgot about everything, except the moment within which he existed.

Which was why it came as a surprise to Remus that he was very much alive the moment the battle ended. Him and Fred both.

“We won,” Hermione breathed from a few feet away. The witch was covered in soot; damp curls hung in sweaty hanks as they pasted themselves to her cheeks.

“I’m…” Remus patted his body in disbelief. “Tell me, are you able to see me?”

“What?” she asked impatiently. “Of course I can. Remus did you hit your head?”

“Am I…alive?” the werewolf stared at his hands.

Before he could tell what was happening, he found himself filled with an armful of sobbing witch.

“We won! Oh buggeringshitfuck we won!”

Tentatively wrapping his arms around her waist, Remus allowed himself the luxury of holding her, even as Fred received his twin in joy.

***

The next full moon was spent in his other body. Prowling the length of his cellar, underneath his old cottage, he howled mournfully towards the heavens.

With his human mind and heart fully in place, Remus mourned the loss of Sirius, James, Lily…even Peter. He mourned the loss of Tonks, and Moody, and most of all, he mourned the loss of Hermione.

Not the Hermione Granger whom he had fought alongside with only days ago. Remus mourned the woman he would never see again, whom he fell in love with in another lifetime.

In the morning, bleeding from new, raw wounds, he found the new Headmistress of Hogwarts waiting at his door.

***

“Will…” _Hermione_ “Will Harry, and Ron and the rest be coming back…”

“Only Miss. Granger is coming back Mr. Lupin,” Minerva told him as she fussed at a cut on his shoulder. Tapping her wand against his skin, she uttered a charm which caused him to hiss in pain. Frowning, she said, “I wish there were a way to stop your suffering each month,”

In the pocket of his old winter coat, Remus held the answer to her wish.

In his thoughts, he also held the knowledge that his all lycanthropic senses might be necessary in protecting Hermione, someday, somewhere. _Lupine Remedium_ was wonderful, but if he had only been faster that day in the alley…been more alert, more aware…

“It is what it is,” he waved off the woman’s concern. “When do you need me back at the castle to help with the rebuilding?”

“Yesterday,” she laughed wryly. “The place is a wreck. We need all the help we can get. Those three are already there, offering their services. Though at the rate Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley are fighting…”

Turning a quizzical eye up at the Headmistress, Remus waited.

“Hermione and Ron have been ripping each other to pieces every time they’re within ten feet of each other,” McGonagall sighed as she took a seat across from him. “One would think they’re not as suited to each other as Molly Weasley would insist,”

Since he had no interest in anything Molly Weasley had to say, Remus waved his wand at the kitchen. Water began to heat on his stove.

“But to my other point, and the main reason for my visit…” McGonagall stared intently at him. “Will you come back? The DADA post is yours if you would only say yes,”

There was a time, Remus thought, when the prospect of being a Hogwart’s Professor was the best thing he could think of, to do with his life. Now however, all he could picture was a small flat in London, and a life spent helping people find that which was dear to them.

But he was lacking a very particular ingredient…an ingredient he knew, he would probably never get back again.

Deep inside, he wondered if that ring he kept in his sock drawer in the future was still there. Hell…was that _sock drawer_ still there?

“Yes,” he said at last. “Yes, I suppose I will,”

“Oh thank goodness,” McGonagall‘s shoulders slumped in relief.

“Shall we discuss my renumeration?” he asked teasingly. “I am a certified war hero now you know. My rates have changed a little,”

Peering at him with curious eyes, McGonagall observed, “You’re different. You’ve changed. You’re confident…you’re sure of yourself…”

Nodding slowly, he said, “War changes a man,”

“I like it,” the older woman said approvingly.

“Fantastic. That means you’ll pay me more,” he joked.

“Remus…” she sighed.


	12. It Hurts To Say

He sat in the great hall and picked dispiritedly at his dinner.

A few feet away, alone at the Gryffindor table, Hermione did the exact same. The hall was still largely empty, considering all of the students weren’t due to return for weeks yet.

“This is ridiculous,” Remus muttered as he speared vehemently at a piece of asparagus.

To his left, Rolanda Hooch asked through a mouthful of beans, “What’s ridiculous?”

“Hermione Granger. Sitting alone,”

“She’s a student,” the Quidditch instructor shrugged. “Students sit with students,”

“There aren’t _any_ students in school. Why can’t she sit with us?”

“I don’t make the rules,” the woman popped a brussel sprout in her mouth.

Studying Hermione’s wan features, he took note of the shadows under her eyes, and the lines which creased her otherwise smooth forehead. Picking up his plate, he pronounced succinctly, “Fuck those rules,”

Refusing to acknowledge Hooch’s glare, Remus strode towards the Gryffindor table. Setting his food down, he settled opposite the young witch.

“Remus,” the young witch greeted amiably. “You really shouldn’t be swearing around young and impressionable minds,”

“You’re not exactly an impressionable mind,” he observed as he salted his pork chop. “You’re a bit too thick-headed for that sort of thing, if you want my opinion,”

“I always want your opinion,” Hermione waved a fork at him.

“That’s a first,” he muttered under his breath.

“Pardon?” Hermione blinked.

“Never mind,” Remus shook his head. “You shouldn’t be sitting below the high table, like you’re some sort of peasant, or…or second-class citizen,”

“Second class citizen? That was the _last_ administration Professor, pay attention,” she pointed out, before she took a delicate bite out of her largely untouched meal.

“I do pay attention,” he persisted. “That’s why I can tell…you’re not sleeping properly,”

“It’ll pass,” Hermione said eventually.

“Trust me when I tell you, it’s won’t be that easy,” he told her. Gazing at her haggard features, Remus wondered at the ferocity of her nightmares. In his mind, he wondered how terrible it must be for her, with no one there to hold her, or to soothe her back to a semblance of peace.

“It’ll be fine,” she insisted as she cut into her food with more force than was strictly necessary.

“Sleeping draughts,” he focused on his salad. “I could try to try making you a…”

“Remus,” Hermione’s growled in exasperation, sounding nothing like a child, and every bit like a woman who had seen too much in one lifetime.

Snapping his mouth shut, the man did his best to taste his food.

“Since I can’t sleep, and since I’m too tired to help with any more rebuilding tonight, I think I’m going to take a walk around the lake,” Hermione set her silverware down. “You’re free to join me if you like,”

There were a thousand reasons why Remus ought to say ‘no’. Why he ought to run in the opposite direction.

“Alright,” he tried for a charming smile. “But in return, you’ll giving sleeping draughts a try,”

“Dammit Remus,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Fine,”

***

Tucking his hands into his pockets, Remus’s fingertips brushed lightly against other-Hermione’s wedding band.

“How are things with Mr. Weasley,” he asked politely as they walked the banks of the lake.

Hermione huffed, “We haven’t spoken in weeks. Not since he took off to start his Auror training,”

“Oh?” Remus wondered if it was panic he felt, or some thing far sicker. Like satisfaction.

“To be honest, I’m not exactly pleased with him. He made a spectacle out of the both of us,” she continued. “According to Ron, it seems I should have made his feelings my number one priority. The fact that I hadn’t wanted our first kiss to be shared in front of an audience…”

Trailing off, Hermione appeared to remember that she was speaking with a member of the faculty, rather than an actual _friend_.

“Maybe Ron just needs time,” Remus said, deeply conscious of the fact that he was dissolving the professional distance between them with every word he uttered. “Maybe he’s still processing the shock of the battle,”

Flicking her dark eyes towards him, Hermione did a bad job of hiding her surprise. Then, with a sigh, she said flatly, “Maybe I don’t care if he ever decides how he feels about me. Not anymore,”

Holding his tongue, Remus focused on the way the light of the half-moon played upon the black surface of the lake.

“Do you know, he abandoned our mission halfway through at one point, simply because he allowed his unfounded jealousy to get the better of him? Granted, there was a Horcrux in the mix, but it wasn’t as if he was the only one suffering its effects,”

Swerving his gaze towards his companion, Remus wondered if he appeared as shocked as he felt. The woman’s older self had never mentioned such a thing to him, each time she raised the spectre of the past. Then again, his Hermione had offered few details about her history with her dead husband. Not for the first time, he wondered at the realities of their marriage…

“He abandoned you?” he asked with morbid curiousity.

“He was convinced I was in love with Harry. It didn’t penetrate his thick head that I was too busy trying to stop Voldemort to think about silly things like boys, and dates,” she kicked viciously at the ground with the toe of her sneakers. “I have to admit, when he wanted to warn the house elves, I took it to mean he’d actually been paying attention to me all these years. Actually…when he said those words, I wondered if that feeling in my heart was…you know…”

The witch hesitated.

“ _Love_ or what-have-you,” she concluded after a second. “I mean…it’s not as if it’s not _expected_ of me, to feel this way…not after all this time,”

“I don’t understand,” Remus asked with a frown. “You were expected to what, fall in love with Ron Weasley?

“Yes, what else?” Hermione flailed her gloved hands. “Everyone tells me we were meant for each other, because Ron and I spend all our time _fighting_ …now that I’m saying it aloud, that logic seems somewhat faulty,”

“Bickering couples are the basis of just about every romantic comedy ever made,” Remus chuckled. “Mind you, I don’t really fancy those types of films,”

“I suppose,” she sounded doubtful. “Enough talk about Ronald Bloody Weasley. Tell me Remus, what’s it like being back from the dead?”

“Nothing to write home about to be honest,” he cast her a sideways glance. “What’s it like being a war hero?”

“Nothing to write home about either,” she admitted. “What a fine pair we make,”

The woman shivered as a chill spring breeze curled past them. Resisting the urge to wrap an arm around her, Remus shrugged out of his coat and draped it around the surprised woman’s shoulders.

“Aren’t you…” she asked even as she drew his coat tightly around her too-thin frame.

Glancing at the shape of her fingers as they clutched at the lapels of his jacket, Remus realized he should have thought his actions through. Now his coat was going to smell like Hermione for fucking days.

“No,” he turned his gaze upwards, towards the starry sky.

Beside the werewolf, the young witch plunged her hands into his coat pockets.

“How’s lesson planning coming along?” she inquired.

The two of them were as far from Hogwarts as they could get now, without entering the Forbidden Forest.

“Good,” he ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve got some good ideas of how I want this year to go”

“Your lessons were always my favourite,” she said casually.

_“I spent most of my third year wondering what you were hiding underneath those black robes…”_

“We should be getting back,” he said abruptly.

“Oh,” Hermione said, pausing mid-step.

“I just mean…” he floundered, wishing he could tell Hermione the truth. That is, that being around her was wonderful, and horrible all at once. That she symbolized everything he had ever wanted, and everything he could never have.

“I just mean I’m tired…and it’s getting late. Also, I wanted to get started on that potion for you. I warn you, I was always shite at brewing, but I’m sure I’ll manage something that won’t poison you…”

“You want to start brewing it _tonight_?” she quirked a brow at him as she took off his coat.

“When else?” he asked in genuine confusion.

“No offence Remus, but a sleeping draught requires hours to brew, and days to set,” she teased as she held his jacket out to him. “Perhaps you need some professional help,”

“You know, I never remembered you being this impertinent,” he mused. “Aren’t you coming back with me?”

“No,” she stuck her tongue out at him.

“But…curfew…” he said in consternation.

“I’m sure no one will notice,” Hermione smiled. “Or care. Unless you plan on telling on me of course,”

“You’re putting me in an awkward position Miss Granger,” he sighed, pushing his coat back towards her. “Ah well. Since I’m not leaving you here on your own, and since you won’t come back with me, I now have no choice but to change my course for the night. That is, I will stay here, by your side, until you’re so racked with guilt that you have no choice whatsoever but to return with me to the castle,”

“Is that right Professor?” Hermione demanded with her hands on her hips. Under the moonlight, her eyes were bright and filled with laughter.

“I’ll stay out here all night if I have to,” he promised. “Come on, let’s start thinking up word games we can play to wile the hours away, and which aren’t mind-numbingly dull. Though frankly, I don’t know of any that won’t bore us both to tears,”

“Fine,” Hermione sighed. “You win. I can’t have McGonagall’s favourite DADA professor die of a chill. Though...you can’t get sick can you?”

“Will you be on my student roster this year?” he asked, changing the subject as they started for the castle.

The thought of repeating the last real conversation he had shared with Hermione’s older self - it was more than he could bear.

“Of course. I can’t wait to see what you have planned,” she replied lightly as they began to retrace their steps. “I promise I will be your most attentive student this year,”

Observing her smirk out the corner of his eye, Remus wondered what he thought he was doing…and when he was finally going to warn her about her future troubles.


	13. These Empty Spaces

“…years have absolutely no respect for tradition. Did you know, they tried to steal a Crystal Ball…” Sybil Trelawney droned.

Chewing on his perfectly cooked steak, Remus took a sip of his wine and wondered if the woman even listened to her own rambling. Staring at the worn tapestries on the castle walls, he wondered what it would be like if he up and resigned, and moved himself to a small flat in Muggle London. Working in the city was far more exciting than listening to his co-workers bitch about the student body...

There were theatres in the city, and interesting little bistros that knew you by name when you stopped in often enough...and hundreds of other distractions that were easily afforded on the salary of a magical Private Investigator.

Tilting his gaze, Remus caught sight of a familiar head of curls. Or rather, he caught sight of the sole reason stopping him from tendering his resignation.

She was seated alone at the far end of the Gryffindor table; the sight of her isolation made his heart constrict, and made him forget momentarily, his growing dissatisfaction with his current occupation.

Remus knew why Hermione was alone of course; she’d already told him on a few nights ago, as they circled the lake on their nightly walk.

“I thought it’d be easy to simply slide back into school,” she had said with a sigh as she tried to tie her hair back.

“Do you need me to crack some heads for you?” he had joked in response.

“How is that going to win me any friends?”

“It’s not, I just wanted to crack some heads,” Remus tugged at her sleeve to stop her from fussing at her curls. Raising his wand, he cast a familiar, well-used cantrip. Immediately, her hair twisted itself into a simple chignon which held every curl neatly in place.

“How did you…” Hermione’s eyes were filled with surprise as she patted her coiffed locks. Narrowing her gaze, she turned deadly serious. “You’re going to teach me how to do that,”

Laughing, he gave her the spell.

“That doesn’t answer my question about how,” she persisted as they continued their circuit. “You don’t have any sisters do you? Or…oh god, did you have long hair in the seventies?”

“God no! I learned that trick from an ex-girlfriend,” he said truthfully. “She had loads of curls that were exactly like yours,”

“Ah,” Hermione stuck her hands in her winter jacket and glanced away.

The weather was turning colder and their coats were growing bulkier. The other coat he owned, the one which held his secrets, it was tucked somewhere deep within his chambers.

“Back to what you were saying,” Remus wasn’t sure exactly, why speaking of an old lover seemed to have placed his companion in a pensive state. “About why nobody likes you,”

“People like me,” she said immediately. “It’s only…”

Hiding his amusement, he watched as she struggled for words.

“It’s almost like everyone’s afraid to talk to me for longer than five minutes at a time,” she said at last. “Conversations stop when I walk past, and all I get are stares. I thought perhaps I’d be able to spend time with Ginny at least, but she’s so busy with Quidditch and things…not that I blame her. She’s currently being recruited by the national team, so her attention’s completely diverted. And also...”

Hermione’s lips twisted downwards.

“What?” he prompted. “Is there more to your story about how terrible it is to be known as one of the saviours of the wizarding world?”

“Oh shut up you,” she bumped him with her shoulder. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but generally, you’re the Professor almost all the students are crushing on this year. And it’s not house specific either. I caught a fifth-year Slytherin girl scribbling “Mrs. Amaryllis Lupin” all over a piece of parchment just the other day,”

“I can’t help it if I’m the handsome war hero all the girls - and some of the boys - want,” he scoffed, channeling his inner-Sirius. “Anyway, don’t change the subject. And also what?”

“When did you become so big headed?” Hermione rubbed at her forehead. “Anyway, it would appear I’m keeping everyone up at night,”

Frowning, Remus tried not to reveal his deep concern.

“Do wipe that asinine expression of your face Professor, you’re a terrible actor,” the witch admonished.

“Are the sleeping draughts…” he started.

“Useless? Yes, unfortunately,” she nodded. “Remus, I know you know exactly why I’m keeping everyone up. You figured it out at Bill’s cottage, those nights you…”

She snapped her mouth shut. In the loud silence which ensued, Remus tried to collect his composure.

“Why?” she asked at last. “All those nights, why did you take the time to sit by my bedside? It couldn’t have been comfortable,”

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you suffering alone,” he said truthfully. “I still can’t bear it, if you want the truth,”

“So you _pitied_ me?” she asked flatly.

“No,” he said at once. “Pitying you is like pitying a supernova for being all powerful and full of light,”

“What happened in the year you were gone?” she questioned with her head tilted to one side. “Why won’t you tell m…tell anyone?”

“I already told you I was _obli_ …”

Fixing him with a ferocious glare, Hermione’s eyes burned like centre of an exploding star. “I might not have been your closest friend before the war, but I would hardly say we were strangers. You’re not the same man who fought beside me in the Department of Mysteries. You’re not the same man who was my mentor and my teacher…”

“Hermione…” he shrank away from her, if only because every last atom in him wanted to gather her into his arms. “Please, can we just…”

“Remus, please, you know you can trust me,” she assured. “I thought you and I…I thought we were becoming friends…”

“Yes. God yes, of course we’re friends…”

“They why won’t you tell me? I’m not stupid. I know you’re not telling the whole truth about what happened…” Hermione’s stubbornness melted away. Lifting a slender hand, she moved to touch his face.

“Don’t,” he warned as he stumbled backwards. “You don’t understand,”

“That’s exactly the problem,” her brow creased in confusion at his refusal to let her come close. “I want to know…”

“I’m sorry…I just…I can’t,”

Like a massive coward, the werewolf fled. With great, heaving breaths, he dashed back towards his quarters and locked the door behind him, as if the very hounds of hell were nipping at his ankles.

“Get it together Lupin,” he muttered over and over to himself that night as he paced the length of his office. “You cannot. You _must_ not,”

Staring at Hermione now, at the way she was hunched over her plate, looking miserable and lonely, he regretted all the ways he was failing her even now.

“…very confusing. The tea leaves tell me we’re due to suffer a cold winter this year, but my dice on the other hand, say…” Sybil was still droning.

“Professor Trelawney, I’m afraid I have some things I need to attend to,” Remus interrupted as he rose from his seat.

“Oh,” the witch blinked owlishly at him through her thick eyeglasses. “Oh, alright then,”

Smiling guiltily, he hurried down the steps leading to the student section of the dining hall. Taking a deep breath, he stopped by Hermione’s side.

“Miss Granger, I would like a word…if you don’t mind, that is,”

Dark eyes regarded him suspiciously.

“Are you going to run off like a giant berk again?” she asked, not seeming overly concerned by the stares that were being thrown their way.

Swallowing his pride, Remus shook his head, “Not unless you want me to,”

Lips twitching, the witch rose to her feet.

***

“ _This_ was your big plan?” she asked as they settled at a small table in the corner of the kitchen.

“It solves your problem doesn’t it?” he inquired loftily. “If we eat here, you won’t have to feel uncomfortable sitting all by yourself at the Gryffindor table,”

“We?” Hermione fiddled with a fork.

A house elf placed a slice of lemon blueberry pie in front of her. To him, they provided a hefty slice of chocolate cake.

“Why not?” he shrugged. “You won’t believe how dull Sybil gets after one too many glasses of Port,”

“Wait,” Hermione scowled. “Are you telling me the faculty gets _wine_ at dinner, while _I’m_ to be satisfied with _Pumpkin juice_?”

His grin widened. “Maybe,”

“Right. All those months trying to save the world, and I can’t even get served a decent drink,” she complained half-heartedly. “Hardly seems worth it now,”

In his mind, Remus conjured the memory of a dozen empty whiskey bottles lining a dirty window sill.

“This won’t be forever,” he promised. “Between the two of us, we’ll get people to like you yet,”

“People already like me,” she informed him archly.

“If you say so,”

Dodging a bread roll, Remus laughed heartily, and after a moment, Hermione too, began to giggle.

All around them, the House Elves cast knowing glances at the two war heroes…and smiled as they hurried about their business.

***

The witch gazed around her in surprise. Shooting Remus a wide-eyed glance, she asked, “Did you clean this place up by yourself?”

It had been two nights since the last full moon, and his wounds were almost completely healed. Still, it hurt him ever so slightly every time he moved too quickly.

“No, I had some help,” he shook his head. He was lying, but Hermione didn’t need to know.

“Even so,” Hermione wandered through the main bedroom of the Shrieking Shack, looking more than a little awestruck. “You turned this into an actual, livable house,”

“It’s quite basic. I mean, yes, the floor no longer covered under a layer of dust…” he said as he trod the newly transfigured rug on the ground. It was a plush, red thing, charmed to never get dirty. “But it’s hardly a palace or anything. The kitchen is still a mess in fact..”

“And you’re going to stay here from now on then?” Hermione inquired. “Are the teacher’s quarters truly that horrid?”

“Me?” Remus blinked. “This isn’t for me. It’s for you. I thought…I thought perhaps you’d like…”

The woman fell silent; confusion and amusement warred in her dark eyes. “You thought perhaps it’s time I owned up to the fact that my nightmares are waking the entire castle, and that I should stay apart from the rest of my schoolmates. Is that it?”

“It was just an idea I had,” Remus scratched at the nape of his neck. “I certainly didn’t mean it as an insult,”

“I know you didn’t,” she assured. “I don’t mind at all,”

Flushing, the wizard grinned bashfully at the ground.

Peering contemplatively at the single bed in the middle of the room, Hermione mused, “I slept in worse places during the war. Frankly, this house is _luxurious_ by comparison,”

“Yes well, I see your point,” Remus’s face twisted in sympathy.

“You know what’s funny? When my nightmares start, most people will simply assume it’s the ghost of the Shrieking Shack making all that noise. Goodness, I would be the _Shrieker_ of the Shrieking Shack wouldn’t I…now isn’t _that_ an amusing thought?”

To Remus’s recollection, there had been a time when _he_ had been the Shrieker of the Shrieking Shack every full moon.

How odd were their lives that everything always came full circle?

“Prof…Remus,” Hermione twisted her fingers as she gazed at him from across the bedroom.

Something about the way she was looking at him, made Remus feel as if all the air had been sucked out of the shack. Rooted to the spot, the man found himself caught in a web of his own making.

“Thank you,” the woman murmured softly as she closed the gap between their bodies. “This is…what you’ve done means so much to me. You have no idea,”

“It’s nothing, really,” he breathed. “Honestly, it’s a bit irresponsible of me as your Professor to leave you out here all by yourself. But I thought maybe…maybe you’ll be able to start making more inroads with your housemates this way,”

Once again, she reached a tremulous hand out towards his face….

At the last minute, Hermione curled her fingers into a tight fist and dropped her hand to her side. Observing the trajectory of her movements, Remus wasn’t sure if he felt relieved of disappointed that she hadn’t ended up touching him.

“It won’t be hard to get here,” she contemplated. “Nobody pays any attention to anything I do. None of the prefects dare stand in my way, and the teachers all seem to want to keep their distance. Well, excepting present company obviously,”

“Would you prefer if I kept more distance between us?” Remus asked.

In his mind, those words had sounded jocular. Out loud however, their meaning transformed into something far different.

“Never,” she told him succinctly and immediately. “I would never prefer that,"

Shuffling, he muttered lamely, “Good. That’s…good,”

“I should get back to the Gryffindor Tower. I’ll need to pack my things…I might move in later tonight, if I’m not too tired…” she nodded slowly. Turning towards the stairwell, she said, “Perhaps I could clean up the kitchen downstairs, and turn it into a working space…I’ve never liked the idea that my food was brought to me by house elves to begin with,”

“Do you cook?” he asked, already knowing the answer. If the thirty-nine year old version of Hermione couldn’t locate the business end of a spatula, he doubted this younger iteration of the witch could do any better.

“My mother tried to teach me some things,” the young woman explained as she descended the stairs. “Besides, I can always learn,”

“I’m sure we can figure something out together,” he nodded.

“Again with the ‘we’,” Hermione laughed cheerfully. “Careful Remus, we might actually become real friends yet,”

“I suspect it’s far too late for you to issue such a warning,” he told her as they stepped out into the night. Carefully, he warded the door, and protected it with with a passphrase.

“That word you used…’selfie’…what does that mean?” Hermione asked. Snow crunched loudly underneath their shoes as they approached the castle.

“You’ll find out,” he answered. _In fifteen or so years…_

“Fine, keep your secrets,” she rolled her eyes.

“I keep meaning to ask…” Remus peered at her. “How are you enjoying the actual business of going to classes and all that? All of it must seem dreadfully dull,”

The woman’s expression grew contemplative. Crossing her arms, her breath froze before her face.

“I thought it would be a relief, to come back to some kind of normalcy. Classes, homework…now that I’m here, everything feels so… _abstract_. I’m being taught how to transfigure a teapot into a dining chair. I’m being asked to charm Muggle Christmas ornaments into glowing baubles…frankly, Professor, the only subjects that interest me anymore are Arithmancy, and possibly ancient Runes…”

“What about _my_ classes?” he flashed her a lopsided grin.

“Fishing for compliments are we?” she smirked at him. “No, Remus, I’m sorry. Your defensive spells are impressive, and the offensive spells are spectacular…but…”

“It’s a bit hard to care when you’ve been battling Death Eaters at every turn,” Remus finished. “Trust me when I tell you, I know the feeling,”

“Are you not enjoying teaching DADA?” she asked curiously.

“Not as much as I once did,” he confessed freely.

“What would you rather be doing?”

“If I told you, you’d laugh,” they stepped onto the path leading them right up to the gates of Hogwarts.

“Tell me anyway,” she insisted.

“I think after this school year is over, I’m going to move to London, and start a Private Investigation firm,” Remus stated. “A Muggle investigation firm at that,”

“You mean like Sherlock Holmes?” Hermione’s face lit up with fascination. “I used to love those stories. I still do as a matter of fact. I always thought I’d make a good detective,”

Hiding his face, Remus fought back a stab of pain.

***

“What did you think of today’s lesson?” Remus asked as they began clearing away the mess that was currently his classroom.

“I thought it was more interesting than usual,” Hermione replied as she mended several cracks in the middle of the floor.

In the past weeks, the witch had transitioned from being his student, to being his unofficial teaching assistant. None of it had been on purpose. The arrangement simply happened.

“You’re just saying that because we set Goyle’s robes on fire,” Remus pointed out gleefully. Were he a truly monstrous man, he would have let the boy burn, considering what his son was going to do to Hermione.

The werewolf was still having trouble trying to find the right way to tell Hermione what threats lay in her future. Lately, he found himself thinking on Pensieves…but that would mean she might see everything. Absolutely everything.

Remus wasn’t certain if the whole truth was such a good idea.

“No, I’m serious, I…”

“Professor Lupin?” a third voice called from the doorway.

As one, Remus and Hermione turned to see Aurora Sinistra waiting patiently at the door.

“Hello Professor,” the werewolf smiled. “Did you need something?”

“Prof…Remus, I was hoping to get a moment with you,” the woman pushed a curtain of dark hair from her face. She glanced apologetically at Hermione. “I can come back later,”

“Rem…Professor Lupin, why don’t you leave me to clean this place up?” Hermione shook her head. “Professor Sinistra, you’re not interrupting anything. Our favourite werewolf just wanted me to stroke his ego about today’s class,”

“I should take points from you for that sort of impudence,” Remus grinned, before he crossed to where his colleague stood. Stepping outside, he closed the door partway and looked expectantly at his colleague.

“You two are extremely friendly,” Aurora wore a strange expression. “Is it exactly proper for a student to be so familiar with a Professor?”

“We’re friendly because we _are_ friends. We fought shoulder to shoulder in at least two battles,” the wizard’s shoulders stiffened every so slightly. “Is there anything I can help you with, Professor Sinistra?”

“Right…” the woman shook her head. Taking a deep breath, she launched quickly into a monologue. “Remus, I’ve been dropping hints for months. Actually, a few years ago, I was dropping hints then too. But it seems I’m not very good at flirting with real people. Not that I’ve been flirting with people who don’t exist. I mean…oh my god, I’m coming off like I’m completely mental,”

For a moment, Remus wondered if Aurora was going to collapse from air deprivation. A belated second later, he began to comprehend what it was she was trying to tell him.

“Aurora…” he started.

“No before you go ahead and turn me down, I promised myself I would get through this,” she held a hand up. “Remus, can I interest you in a drink? I see the two of us are on the roster as chaperones for tomorrow’s Hogsmeade weekend. It’s the last Hogsmeade weekend before Christmas as a matter of fact, and I thought it would be nice if we could share a pint at the Three Broomsticks or something…”

Staring at the ridiculously beautiful woman in front of him - a woman who happened to look almost exactly like his idea of a perfect Morticia Addams - Remus couldn’t find a single reason to say ‘no’.

“You do remember I’m a werewolf,” he blurted out for want of any other way to decline her invitation.

“Yes Remus, _everyone_ knows,” Aurora’s full lips curved into a slow smile. “I hate to be the one to break this to you, but your condition isn’t exactly a secret,”

“Right,” he frowned. “I suppose…I can’t see find any reason why we shouldn’t…except…”

The door beside them opened. From within Remus’s classroom, Hermione emerged with her books clutched against her chest. Murmuring a quick farewell to both her Professors, she began to hurry away.

“Herm…Miss Granger…” he called in surprise and disappointment. He hadn’t wanted her to leave.

The look she gave him then - it stole his breath away. All at once, every last attempt he had made to tell himself that _this_ woman wasn’t the woman he actually loved, vaporized into so much nothing.

Hermione gazed at him like she yearned to run to him, but for certain invisible bonds which held her back.

“I’m sorry Professor, I have to…I have to write to…” she stuttered. “Ron’s been waiting on my reply for days. It’s time I gave him one,”

Watching her go, Remus wondered if perhaps he wasn’t actually still beside Hermione in that alley, back in the year 2019; perhaps he too, had been struck by one of Aquila Goyle’s curses, and he was simply too thick to realize it. Certainly, _this_ was what dying must feel like. The complete inability to breathe, to function, to think…

“Honestly,” Aurora clucked her tongue. “I think she’s let her fame get to her head,”

Before he could tell Aurora that he had changed his mind, that he had no wish to start a new endeavour with anyone because frankly, his heart still felt like a painful mess most of the bloody time, the woman was smiling and saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow,”

Watching her leave, Remus tried to swallow away the sour taste in his mouth…but his efforts were to little avail.

***

That night, he didn’t find Hermione in the kitchen, or down by the lake.

At the doorway to the Shrieking Shack, Remus stood with his hand poised to knock upon its cracked, wooden surface.

What would it be like, he wondered, if he did ask to be let in? Between himself and Hermione, perhaps they could clean the kitchen together, before they moved on to the parlour.

Perhaps they could set about mending the walls by sealing its cracks and its various tears. Come spring, they could tidy the garden, and lay down new plants. Flowers maybe; herbs probably. He had always fancied the idea of a working garden.

Underneath the eaves of their home, he could peel back her clothing every night, and love her the way she was meant to be loved. However many children she wanted, he would happily give. They could build a life right within the confines of the Shrieking Shack, and it wouldn’t even be a bad one.

Withdrawing his hand, Remus marched himself back to the castle. Alone in his bed, he stared up at the ceiling for a very long time.

When he acceded at last that sleep would not be his, he rolled out of bed. Picking up his wand, he stumbled blearily towards the dungeons.

***

Drawing his memories into a vial, Remus allowed his eyes to fall shut.

In his mind’s eye, the man could plainly picture their small flat and Teddy’s face…he could almost hear his Hermione’s laughter, and see the blush that stained her cheeks every time he pressed a kiss to her bow lips.

Rays of Saturday morning sun seem to glimmer in the threads he pulled out of his head, and in his mind, he could still hear Hermione’s voice as she whispered,

“I love you,”

With shaking hands and blurring eyes, Remus corked the flask he filched from the Potions lab, and tucked it into the depths of his robes.


	14. I’ve Been Trying to Change

The town was filled with screaming schoolchildren who seemed completely ignorant of the fact that not even a year ago, their world had almost been completely destroyed. 

“Though when you really think about it, that’s a blessing isn’t it?” Aurora pointed out as they meandered towards the Three Broomsticks. “All this youthful ignorance,”

“You’re right I suppose,” Remus nodded. He was careful to stay three feet apart from her, and he was being even more careful with his words. It was only fifteen minutes into their first date, but already, he knew that there would be no second try.

“It’s nice that this town remained largely untouched,” she continued speaking, not noticing his reticence at all. Or at least, not indicating that she might have noted his morose silence. “It would be a pity if the last true wizarding town in Great Britain somehow got destroyed,”

“ _True wizarding town_ ,” Remus snorted despite himself. “Isn’t that the kind of thinking which got us all into trouble to begin with?”

“Pardon?” August wrinkled her nose as they entered Madam Rosmarta’s establishment. 

“Wizarding purity and all that shite,” he explained as they wandered towards a booth. 

A head of curls beside a mop of ginger caught his attention. Swerving his gaze towards a shadowy corner, Remus watched as Ron Weasley reached for Hermione’s pale hand…

When she didn’t pull away, the werewolf forced himself to keep on walking in the other direction.

“You’re exaggerating,” Aurora sounded peeved. 

Desperately, Remus tried to remember what they were talking about.

“Am I?” he asked innocently.

“I’m not saying a wizarding-only town shouldn’t have Muggle-borns in it…” she hissed quietly. “They’re wizards too. I simply meant that it’s nice to have a place that’s magic, and only magic…”

“Right,” he forced his brain away from the thought of Hermione and Ron holding hands. “I just thought the emphasis on some wizarding-only society seems a bit archaic when you really think about it. _Limiting_ too, frankly,”

“I don’t know,” Aurora shrugged out of her black coat. She signalled somewhere over his shoulder for two pints to be brought over. “It’s kind of nice to think of a place that’s all our own. The Muggles don’t have anything half as exciting as what we have to offer,”

“You’d be surprised,” Remus said drily. “They’re working on their own brand of magic that might soon surpass our own,”

“That seems…” the woman frowned. “Unbelievable,”

“Perhaps,” he shrugged. “You teach astronomy…have you never looked at your teaching implements and wondered at what the Muggles did for your profession?”

“What do you mean?” Aurora asked in genuine confusion. “I don’t see how…”

“Your telescope. That wasn’t a wizarding invention was it?” Remus questioned. “Muggles landing on the moon, the space station, bloody rovers on Mars…”

“Bloody _what_ on _where_?” his colleague stared at him like he was currently growing a second head.

Remus wondered where their drinks were. “The Muggles sent a rover to Mars in 1997…a rover is kind of like a robot, which is…"

Noticing her blank expression, the wizard sighed.

“The point is, Muggles have managed to place human technology on Mars. Currently, scientists are studying the _soil_ content covering the surface of our favourite red planet. _Mars_ , Aurora…what have _we_ done lately, outside of instigating a civil war which nearly ended British civilization as we knew it,”

“You’re not serious,” his colleague gaped at him. “Mars? But that’s…science fiction is it what it sounds like,”

“Professor, I swear to you, everything I’m saying is the blessed truth,” he supplied, as a pint of bitter was set before him. “I suggest you take a peek at their science journals when you get the chance, especially the ones NASA publishes,”

A flurry of movement outside the window beside him caught his eye. Peeking out the half-frozen glass, Remus spied the unwelcome sight of Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger standing together. 

Except…

Except Ron was red in the face. Scarlet in fact. And he was gesticulating wildly, even as Hermione stood stock still and unmoving. The woman’s chin was tilted at an angle which betrayed the fact that she was absolutely furious. 

Remus ought to know - he had been on the receiving end of that bloody chin plenty of times.

“…haunted again,” Madam Rosmerta - their server - cheerfully confirmed. “The whole town hears the screams every night, but no one’s been brave enough to see what’s happening in the Shack. There’s a rumour going around that it’s the ghost of Severus Snape, screaming from the bottom of hell,”

“But Snape…” Aurora stared at the owner of the Three Broomsticks in consternation. Frankly, she wore the expression of a woman who had no idea how her afternoon had gone so wrong, so quickly. “I thought everyone knew, Snape wasn’t…”

“Every night?” Remus interrupted. 

“Loads of pleading and begging,” the barmaid confirmed. “Nothing better than what Snape deserves to be sure. Odd it only started two weeks ago of course,”

Peering out the window once more, Remus watched as Ron disapparated from Hogsmeade, leaving Hermione standing alone in the town square. All around, her schoolmates stared at her in judgemental silence, 

“Aurora…” he started. 

Outside, Hermione began to walk in the direction of the Hog’s Head.

“What you’re saying is marvellous, but it can’t be true…I just don’t believe it,” his companion stated as she picked up the frayed threads of their conversation.

“It _is_ true,” he said flatly, turning to look at her. “Your belief has nothing to do with it, one way or another,”

“You’re being very rude,” Aurora scowled.

“Yes. I am. _Unforgivably_ so,” he sighed. “Listen, this…this _date_ isn’t going particularly well,”

“I’ve noticed,” the witch across from his sounded resigned. She slumped back in her bench. “I thought there was something between us. It would seem I was very much mistaken,”

“You’re a very attractive…” he started. 

“Don’t,” Aurora groaned. “Just don’t. Alright? I _know_ I’m attractive. As soon as you leave, I’m going to go sit at that bar over there, and have a nice gentlemen buy me a drink. It’ll mend my shattered ego, and we can go back to being politely indifferent towards one another,”

“I would prefer it if we at least tried for something better than _politely indifferent,_ ” Remus chuckled.

“Dammit Remus, I just wanted to go out with someone with at least half a brain for once,” she moaned. “I didn’t count on you being so hard to get along with,”

“I’m not hard to get along with. I just happen to disagree with your opinions,” the werewolf pointed out quite reasonably. 

The woman wore a speculative expression as her eyes drifted towards the window. 

“If you run after her now, I promise, I won’t tell McGonagall. God knows, she’s of-age, and she’s clearly as taken with you, as you are with her,”

Something fluttered in Remus’s belly as he took in the sound of those words.

“Besides…from everything I’ve heard…Hermione Granger deserves some happiness doesn’t she? After all she’s been through? I’ll admit, she’s a bit arrogant, and more than a bit of a know-it-all, but still…”

Taken aback by Aurora’s utter lack of judgement, Remus stared at his colleague in slack-jawed wonder.

“Just fucking go will you?” she threw her hands up. “Don’t just sit there like a dribbling moron. If you behave like this in front of Hermione, she’ll never want to go out with you,”

“At least let me pay…”

“I swear to god Remus, get the hell out of this booth before I hex your…”

“I’m off,” the wizard clambered out of the booth. With one last apologetic look the werewolf bolted towards the front entrance.

***

At the Hog’s Head, Hermione was still on her first drink. Or at least, Remus hoped that was the case. 

Settling beside her, he signal-led to Aberforth that he would have whatever it was the witch was drinking.

“Shouldn’t you be with Professor Sinistra?” Hermione asked sulkily, not deigning to look at him.

“Shouldn’t you be with Ronald Weasley?” he countered. He kept his gaze fixed on her profile almost as a form of childish retaliation.

“Touche,” she drained her glass.

Aberforth seemed a little concerned about Hermione’s whiskey consumption as he brought Remus his own glass of liquour. Not concerned enough however, that he thought to linger at their end of the bar. 

Taking a sip of his own drink, the werewolf found himself pleasantly surprised by the light, sweet taste of the whiskey Hermione was indulging herself in.

“Writer’s Tears,” she smiled into her glass. Despite her show of ignoring him, clearly, the woman was extremely aware of his presence. “Come on Remus, you must realize I have _some_ standards,”

“Speaking of standards, what happened with young Mr. Weasley,” he asked breezily, despite the fact that he knew he really oughtn’t interfere.

“Well you see, when he was an infant, he was dropped on his head once too often,” Hermione’s voice took on a frustrated note. “I told him I’m not sure we should be exploring a relationship just yet, considering we’re presently at very different places in each of our lives. Ron _respectfully_ disagreed. I’ve been informed that until I acquiesce to his good sense, I will continue to be disinvited from the Burrow,”

Making a face, Remus bit back certain scathing words.

“Anyway, I can’t go to Molly’s for Christmas dinner,” Hermione concluded after a moment. “I suppose I’ll just spend it here, at the Hog’s Head,”

Quashing down a flare of anger, Remus wondered how often his own Hermione had turned to alcohol for solace, after every fight with her dearly departed Ron. Taking a slow sip of his drink, he weighed his next words carefully.

“I’m sure we can cobble together dinner for the both of us. It can’t be that hard,”

“We?” she kept her gaze fixed on the sticky surface of Aberforth’s bar.

“We.” he stated. Swirling his glass, he added, “I tried to find you last night,”

“I saw you standing outside my door. You just… _stood_ there,” she sounded miffed. 

Mortified, the wizard drained his whiskey and ordered another.

“I would have let you in if you had only knocked,” the witch said softly. “You know that,”

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” he shook his head. “No, that’s not right. I wasn’t sure if I was in the right state of mind last night,”

“Is that all our ‘friendship’ actually is?” the witch made air quotes. “Something for you to indulge in, whenever _you_ feel like it?”

“You’re drunk,” he muttered in annoyance. 

“Maybe I am a little,” she agreed. “But _you’re_ infuriating. I won’t be your safety net forever Remus. Either we treat each other as equals, or not at all,”

Remus sighed. “You’re right. As always, you’re right,”

Shaking her head, she toasted Aberforth as he brought them both refills. 

“I thought you and Ron were meant to be,” he said truthfully.

Nursing her new drink, Hermione said darkly, “You and everyone else. You ought to join the fan club. Me on the other hand, my membership’s been revoked I’m afraid,”

“I never said I was a fan,” he picked up his glass and swallowed his drink. “I’m sorry I’ve been acting like a massive git. If I promise to start behaving like I’m a grown up, can we continue this friendship of ours?”

“Idiot,” her lips twitched. “Obviously, yes,”

Really, Remus ought to deduct house points for such disrespect…

However, the man had a feeling that the Hermione Granger who cared about such things was no longer present. That girl was, for better or worse, as dead as certain delusional Dark Lords.

“Finish your drink. I want to take a look at the kitchen in the Shack and see what we can do to get it working…after all, we’ll need a place to cook Christmas dinner,”

“You can’t be serious,” she finally turned her surprised gaze towards him. “I thought you were joking,”

“No, of course I can’t be serious. I’m _Remus_ ,” the werewolf said with a straight face.

Collapsing against his arm, Hermione’s giggles were filled with genuine mirth. 

***

Against his better judgment, Remus found himself approaching the Shrieking Shack again that night, long after the castle had gone to sleep. 

Her cries were faint at first, but by the time he was standing beneath her window, he could hear her moans of terror, her continued pleas for mercy. Incapable of ignoring her anguish, Remus let himself into the house. Racing up the rickety stairs, he collapsed beside her bed. 

The woman was thrashing horribly, lost in the grip of some invisible terror. Veins popped at her forehead and neck, as she fought fruitlessly against that which hurt her. Despite all he knew of Hermione’s nightmares, he had never gotten used to how horrid those things were.

Gripping at her hand, a bright, burning light caught his eye. Flipping her arm over, he stared at the ugly letters which had been carved into her flesh by a mad woman…

…and at the way they glowed an angry red. Throwing his mind back to those nights in Bill’s cottage, he remembered how her arm had been tightly bandaged, thus rendering the true extent of Bellatrix’s damage invisible even to him. Indeed, he suddenly recalled how odd he had always thought it was, the faint heat her scars always emitted…

Blind panic filled Remus, as he understood that something was very wrong.

“Hermione,” he shook her urgently.

“Wha…” she shot up to sitting. “Where am I?” 

“You’re safe,” he had yet to release his hold on her, though the burning letters were fading back to raised pale, raised scars. “You’re here,” 

“Remus? What are you doing here?” she looked down at her arm and then back at him. “Oh…oh fuck. You know,”

“How long have _you_ known that these weren’t simply harmless scars?” Remus gritted out.

“The moment the bandages came off,” she confessed.

Glaring at her, he sat down on the mattress as she gathered her knees towards her chest. “Why didn’t you tell anyone, or ask for help?”

“I didn’t want more pity, or more attention,” Hermione snatched her hand from him. “Bad enough I’m the scarred Muggle-born witch who rode Harry’s coattails to fame - now I’ll be the witch with the glowing scars too? Though admittedly, the glowing has gotten a lot better since it started...”

Growling, Remus fought to control his emotions. If only he had arrived at the right time, he would have killed Lestrange before she had a chance to touch his witch. As it stood, he had to settle for the knowledge that someone else had ended that woman once and for all on the battlefield.

“Asking for help isn’t the same as asking for pity,” he said tightly.

Crossing her arms, she regarded him with a petulant light in her eyes. 

For the first time that night, Remus noted that Hermione was wearing very little in way of clothing - a spaghetti strap top and cotton shorts. Sitting in her bed, knowing almost exactly what she would look like under her pyjamas, he suddenly felt like a dirty old man for wanting her the way he did.

The way he always did.

Huffing, Hermione carded her fingers through her rumpled curls. “I’m close to figuring out the curse she applied to that damned blade. Any day now, I’ll be able to lift her handiwork…”

“I’m not completely useless you know?” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I _literally_ teach Defence Against the Dark Arts. Let me help you…please,”

“Fine,” she rasped in exhaustion. 

Bed clothes shifted as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. The way she sat left almost no space at all between their bodies. It would have been so easy for him to lean over… 

“Fine,” she repeated. “You _may_ help me,”

“Good,” he rose to his feet. “We can start tomorrow. You should get some rest,”

“It’s not like I can go back to sleep,” Hermione smiled tiredly up at him. “Frankly, I’m lucky if I get two hours in every night, before the dreams start and she’s with me…”

Turning his gaze to the open doorway, he racked his brain. 

“I’ll start a fire downstairs…”

“Stay,” she murmured, eyeing him in a manner that made him want to die from yearning alone. “Just a moment longer,” 

Swallowing, Remus cautiously sat back down beside her. Gently, she placed her head in the crook of his neck. In the darkness of the house, surrounded by Hermione’s scent and her very presence, Remus let himself pretend for a moment that he was back in a tiny flat, in another place and another time.  
“You can’t be here every night,” she murmured. “Can you?”

“Why can’t I?” he asked quietly, knowing full well that he was playing with fire.

“Silencing charms,” Hermione said. “That will do the trick. If I haven’t been so tired, I’d have remembered to cast the charms,”

“I don’t need as much sleep as a regular person,” he lied. “I can sit by your side whenever you need me,”

“And what if that’s not enough?” she asked. “What if you, sitting beside my bed, holding my hand stops being enough?”

Remus had absolutely no answer to that question, mostly because he understood what Hermione was actually asking.

“We’ll fix this,” he promised as he rested his chin in her hair. “I swear, I’ll undo what that woman did to you,”

***

Christmas found them sitting on the floor in front of a roaring fire, beside a surprisingly pretty tree. 

“Those Christmas ornament charms you were practicing certainly got put to good use,” he observed admiringly as he munched on his dinner. In the next room, the badly restored kitchen was still smoking slightly, but it was well worth the misadventure, considering the meal they had managed to put together anyway. 

Or at least, that _he_ had put together. The brilliant witch at his side was fantastic at spells, but utterly shite at cooking. 

“The beans turned out well,” she bit off a chunk of dark meat. “My culinary skills aren’t completely absent,”

“Hermione, if you know how to boil water, then you know how to cook green beans,” he teased. “Though to be honest, I was a little worried about your water boiling abilities,”

“I hate you,” she muttered, though in the next moment, she was tossing him a badly wrapped gift. 

Domestic goddess, this woman was not, Remus thought as he studied the crinkled wrapping paper in his lap.

“Happy Christmas,” she waved a fork at him.

“I didn’t get you anything,” he chewed slowly. 

“Remus, you got me a _house_ ,” Hermione eyed him closely. “You made me Christmas dinner, and you’re helping me with…my little glowing problem,” 

“It’s not the same,” Remus said stubbornly, as he set his plate down. 

Picking up the gift, he peeled back the shiny paper. Running his fingers over the rough grain of the plain wooden box he found underneath, he flipped a small bronze latch and peeked inside. “This is…a watch?”

“Your powers of observation are _astounding_ ,” Hermione said drily. “I noticed your old watch was falling apart. My other thought was to buy you a limited edition version of Alan Moore’s _Lost Girls_ , but after browsing through its pages, I didn’t necessarily think…um…that is to say…”

The woman’s face flushed a deep, fetching pink. Every last cell in Remus’s body begged him to go to her. 

“As much as I like my comics explicit,” he cleared his throat. “It’s a good thing you didn’t buy me that book, given that I already own a copy,”

Grey eyes darted to the timepiece on his wrist, the one Lily had given him all those years ago. That old watch meant the world to him, but…

“Do you not like your gift?” the witch in front of him worried at her bottom lip. “I could take it back and get something you might actually…”

“Of course I like it,” he promised as he took the new watch from its case. Carefully, he undid his old, crumbling strap, and donned Hermione’s gift in its stead.

Glancing up, he opened his mouth to thank his companion for the thoughtful gift…but before he could get the words out, the witch was darting towards him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“Thank you,” she said as she drew away. “For being such a wonderful friend,” 

Hating himself for being a good man, Remus nodded mutely, and resumed his meal.


	15. The Moment That I Let It Go

“This is going to hurt,” he told her as they set the tools for the ritual up, in the parlour of the Shrieking Shack.

“If it means I can start getting some proper sleep, it’s worth it,” Hermione lit five red candles, and set out a porcelain bowl filled with lamb’s blood.

It was Valentine’s Day, and outside, the freezing wind was howling ferociously. 

“You read the notes of course, you understand what you’re to do,” Remus fretted. 

“Yes, of course I understand,” Hermione answered testily. “Honestly, the nerve of Bellatrix, to have bloody cursed me the way she did…”

“Bellatrix Lestrange was nothing if not inventive,” he shook his head angrily. “Molly Weasley should have left her to me. I would have taught her what pain was,”

“Somebody’s bloodthirsty…oh wait, the full Moon is coming on the day after tomorrow isn’t it?” Hermione chuckled rustily. “Remus…you know that this doesn’t mean my nightmares will end…”

“No,” he grimaced. “But they’ll probably start diminishing,”

That was the hope anyway. His own Hermione never slept properly...though perhaps that woman had never gotten around to curing what ailed her. 

“I guess it’s time for me to battle my demons,” Hermione raised her wand as he raised his.

Choking back his fear, the werewolf began to chant.

***

“It’s tiny. Actually, it’s…oh god Remus…it’s adorable,” Hermione said in awe as she crouched over the creature they had drawn out from her blood.

“Woman, no,” Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “That _adorable_ creature is the source of your horrific nightmares,”

Below them, the small, gnarled thing shrieked in fury, though shriek was all it could do now, trapped in a circle of lamb’s blood as it was.

“Can I keep him?” Hermione looked up at him with shining eyes. “He’s tiny!”

“No,” the werewolf turned his gaze towards the ceiling. “No you cannot keep him,”

“Can we at least…”

“Alright, I see where this is going,” Remus lifted a booted foot. “No irritating pets that dissolve in your blood so they can feed on your nightmares,”

Slamming his heel down, he felt as the thing died a squishy death. Casting a scourgify on his boots, Remus looked up to find himself gazing at a sulky witch.

“You can’t seriously be angry,” he groaned. “That was practically a sodding _demon_ ,”

“Maybe, but it was _my_ demon,” she grumbled.

“Bloody hell,” he rubbed exasperatedly at his forehead.

***

This time, Remus stayed the night without either of them discussing it. Settling into the room beside her own, the man fell into a light doze. After what was probably hours, the sound of her soft whimpers roused him from a restless slumber. Leaping to his feet, he sprinted to her room…only to find her blinking awake all on her own.

“I do believe…” she said. “I had a bad dream. But it wasn’t anywhere near as terrible as they had been before…”

“Show me your arm,” he strode towards her bedside. 

To his relief - and obviously hers - no letters glowed. Laughing in sincere joy, he caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Playfully, she reached out to shove at his shoulder. 

That was when it happened. One minute, they were jostling playfully against each other…the next, his mouth was covering her own. 

Remus kissed Hermione like a man starved. Sliding his fingers into her curls, he shuddered as her arms wound tightly around him. 

The woman pressed the soft curves of her body flush against his own, firmer planes. Running his right hand down the side of her body, his fingers gripped tightly at her hips as he began to lay her back down upon her bed. With his lips slanted against her own, Remus felt like a man who had found dry land after spending an eon lost at sea. In his arms was everything he had thought lost forever…

“Hermione,” he whispered raggedly. 

Underneath his skin, sanity tried to reassert itself. Desperately, it tried to remind him that this woman wasn’t his to touch…never mind that his soul cried out for her, like she was the missing piece he had been seeking all his life.

Slender fingers reached between them and fumbled at his clothing. 

“Hermione, stop,” he murmured, though he wasn’t exactly helping the situation. Despite his protestations, his hands would not desist. Running his palms under the hem of her nightshirt, his breath hitched as he came in contact with her warm skin.

“Why do we need to stop?” she spoke against his neck. 

“Because…Ron,” he choked out. “You have to think about Ron, the two of you are…”

“Nothing,” she laughed throatily, tossing her hair back. “Remus, it’s been _you_ for some time now. I can’t stop thinking about you, and only you…don’t tell me you’re _that_ oblivious,”

Of course he wasn’t oblivious; he also understood more than she did, the risk he was undertaking. 

Rose and Hugo for one, depended on Ron and her being married, or at least, _copulating_ …though that very thought made Remus want to howl in fury.

But then again, the question of Teddy had been settled by the birth of Charlie’s and Tonks’s little boy. So why should he worry about a future that was already disrupted by his very presence? Why should he stand by and watch as Hermione fell into an unhappy marriage?

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he heard himself asking. “I’m so much older than you, and…”

“Professor,” she murmured fondly. “Why are you still talking?”

Whatever spell he had fallen under, Remus immediately snapped out of it. Wrenching himself from her arms, he stumbled back and held himself up by the crumbling wall behind him.

“Remus, what’s the matter?” Hermione’s eyes were wide and filled with alarm.

“What you just said…” he squeezed his eyes shut because the room was tilting. “It’s the same thing you said to me the first time we…the first time she…”

“I don’t understand,” she seemed torn between worry and disappointment. “Remus, you’re not making sense…”

Approaching him carefully, Hermione reached for his hand.

“No,” he shied away from her. “I can’t. Christ…I can’t…”

Hermione’s expression froze. Very coldly, she said, “Remus, if you’re not actually interested in pursuing anything with me, the theatrics you’re employing are hardly necessary,”

“Theatrics,” he laughed hysterically. “Hermione, do you really want to know what happened the year I disappeared?”

The witch stared at him like he had gone mad, and perhaps he had.

“Do you?” he repeated. Reaching for his wand, wordlessly, he summoned a flask from the depths of his winter coat in the next room. Striding towards her, he shoved the small container into her delicate hands. “Careful my love…that’s my heart you’re holding in your hands,”

“Your heart…” Hermione blinked. “I still don’t…” 

“Find a pensieve. Look at my memories. Look at them, and tell me if you still want this,” 

“Remus…” she frowned.

“I didn’t betray anyone, in case you were wondering,” he stated as he backed towards the door. His eyes were burning and he was sure he was openly crying, but he couldn’t care less. 

_The woman before him wasn’t his Hermione. Not really…_

“When I’m done with this, you and I will need to have a serious talk,” she tilted her chin upwards. 

“Oh, I’m certain we will,” he agreed.

_…Except she still was, wasn’t she? Hermione. Forever and always._

Pivoting on his heel, the werewolf left.

***

Hermione was nowhere to be found, which was odd by everyone’s standards.

The truth was, Remus hadn’t expected her to show in his class the following day; neither had he any idea how he was to address her, should she have appeared. Chances were, he would have dismissed the rest of her classmates, and locked the door behind them, if only to finish what they had started the night before.

Though there was every chance he would simply run from her. Again.

By the time dinner rolled around, McGonagall was hurrying between Professors and students alike, demanding to know when and where her star student had last been seen.

That was when Remus finally gave in to his burgeoning worry, and kicked himself yet again for his boundless stupidity.

***

Remus threw off his billowing Professor robes as he entered his solar. Tossing aside his books, he summoned his jacket. Just as he was about to commence his own search for his erstwhile witch, a familiar voice stilled his steps.

“Remus John Lupin, the next time I tell you to do something, you _do_ it. Are we clear?”

Whipping around, he found himself gazing into Hermione’s beloved face. 

“Oh thank god…” he released a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding. 

“Shut up,” she rose from where she sat. The woman’s eyes were rimmed in red, and it was clear she had been crying. “Remus, for once in your life, stop talking,”

Launching herself at him, Hermione raised herself up on tiptoes and crushed her lips against his own. Wrapping his arms around her waist, happiness began very slowly to warm Remus’s person as it flooded his soul.

“Idiot,” she said thickly when at last she pulled away. “You idiot. Why didn’t you just _tell_ me,”

“I didn’t know how,” he explained shakily, pressing his forehead against her crown. “You were meant to be with Ron, and…”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” she laughed-cried. “I meant fucking _Lupine Remedium._ Goddammit Remus, I…future-me told you to bring the recipe straight to me. You stupid, stupid man…you had a _cure_ for lycanthropy sitting in your pocket for fuck’s sake!”

“When did you start swearing like a sailor?” He nuzzled affectionately into her hair.

“When my werewolf went and pissed me off,” she rubbed at her nose. “Make no mistake Remus, you’re _definitively_ mine,”

“What about Ron? What about your children?” Remus stroked at her cheek with his thumb.

“Remus, in that timeline, you were _dead_ ,” she shoved him lightly. “Dead do you understand? Had you not died…”

“Had I not died, who is to say what might have happened,” he murmured softly. “There is no guarantee we would have been together. I was married to somebody else in that life…”

“I’m not letting this…letting _you_ go in this one,” she said fiercely. “The future isn’t writ in stone, no matter what you have to say on the matter,”

Pressing his lips to her hair, he gathered her close. 

“I knew those people Hermione,” he breathed her in. “You… _she_ …was real to me. My son, your children…they were all _real_ to me,”

“I know…I know they were. Or they _are_ ,” she murmured. “Oh Merlin, it’s all messed up isn’t it?”

With the woman he loved back in his arms, Remus didn’t want logic or explanations. He just wanted Hermione Granger, now until the end of time.

“I made the potion,” she sniffled.

“Pardon?” he blinked as she reached up to kiss the underside of his chin. 

“I made _Lupine Remedium_. It took all day, but…”

“Sweet girl…the recipe is in my coat pocket. How could you possibly have it?” Remus said patiently. “The reason I never tried to make it for myself, is because I didn’t want - ever- to be in a position _again_ where I might be prevented from helping you, or defending you from…”

“I am perfect capable of defending myself,” Hermione admonished. “Especially now that I’ve been forewarned. As for the recipe, I took it from your memories you silly, ridiculous man,”

“Hang on a minute…is _that_ where you’ve been all day?” he demanded as he remembered the reason why he had returned to his rooms to begin with. “Hermione…the whole school is in an uproar. Everyone is looking for you,”

“Oh dear…” her face crinkled in genuine consternation.

Hardly daring to trust reality, Remus pressed another kiss to her lips. They became so lost in one another, neither of them heard it when the door opened behind them.

“Am I interrupting something?” McGonagall’s voice rang out, cold and angry.

Before Remus could stutter out an excuse - not that he had a good one - Hermione declared, “Yes Headmistress, as a matter of fact, you very much are. Interrupting, that is,”

“I beg your…” the older witch gasped.

“I would remind you that not only am I of age, I happen to be Hermione Granger…that is, war hero, and one of the saviours of the Wizarding World,” Hermione voice shook only slightly as she moved to stand between Remus and his boss. 

Evidently, his witch had not only been potion-making, she had also been strategizing her arguments…

“This is _my_ school,” Minerva McGonagall drew herself to her full height.

Before his eyes, Remus watched in adoring awe as his witch mustered her significant prowess. 

“Professor McGonagall, with all due respect, nothing that’s happening here is wrong. I’ve been a consenting adult for quite some time now. Indeed…if you want me to be completely honest, I’m rather sure I’ve _outgrown_ Hogwarts as of late,”

Gaping at her like a fish, McGonagall’s cheeks grew ashen. 

“Well…” she started, then stopped. The woman’s hands fluttered towards her hair. “Well,”

“I would be sorry Minerva,” Remus stepped towards Hermione and wrapped an arm around her. “But the truth is, I loved the woman Hermione became, and I love her now,”

Out the corner of his eye, he could see his witch’s cheeks flushing as she took in his words. A part of him had no idea where this boldness was coming from. All he knew was that he was done hiding from the truth, and he was done wasting time. 

“I…” The Headmistress’s mouth snapped shut. 

Working her jaw, McGonagall reached for the door knob and left.

“So I guess that’s that for my job,” he mused aloud the moment they were alone. “Pity. I was really looking forwards to failing Goyle,”

“Firing a war hero for starting a relationship with a consenting student, who also happens to be of age? A student who is well… _me_?” Hermione shook her head. “I rather doubt she would do such a silly thing,”

“Has anyone mentioned you’re a bit too arrogant for your own good?” he wondered as he smoothed her hair from her face. 

“No, but let’s not start,” she reached up for his hand. “Remus?”

“Hmm?” Remus wondered if he were dreaming.

“Tell me again,” she wound an arm around his neck. 

“Tell you what,” the man teased as he touched his nose to hers. 

“You know what,” Hermione smiled.

“Bloody hell…” he sighed. Then, very firmly, he stated, “I do you know. I love _you_ ,”

“And I…”

Shaking his head, he interrupted, “You don’t have to say anything in return. Not until you’re ready,”

Tilting her chin towards him, Remus claimed her lips once more, and waited for the universe to reshape itself around him.


	16. Is When I Find I'm In Control

**3 Months Later…**

They strolled the edge of the lake, enjoying the warm weather which was finally beginning to take over.

“I take it young Mr. Weasley will not be a frequent visitor in the near future,” Remus remarked as his hand found her own.

“He’ll get over it,” Hermione flipped her hair back. “He always does. Harry tells me he’s been seeing some Greengrass girl anyway, down at the Academy,”

“Blimey, he’s seeing someone else and he’s still angry about this,” Remus snorted. “What _did_ you ever see in that prat?”

“Careful Moony, Ron is still my best friend,” Hermione warned. Resignedly, she added, “An idiot true, but still my friend. Also, Harry’s looking into Goyle and his family…quietly of course,”

Harry had taken in Remus’s secret sojourn in time with surprising grace.

Not that it should have been all that surprising…after spending most of his young life facing down one form of evil or another, it was unlikely that very much would faze James’s son anymore.

“Good,” the werewolf sighed. "Have you heard from Charlie lately?"

"Harry told me that both he and Teddy are doing well despite...well...despite everything. Charlie is still quite torn up about losing Tonks, which is only to be expected I suppose..." the witch squeezed at his hand. Dipping his head, Remus said nothing in response; something tugged achingly within his chest, but it was a wound he was learning to live with.

Compared to Charlie, Remus was lucky. After all, it was unlikely the other man would ever gain back what he had lost.

“Tell me Professor,” Hermione tugged him under the shade of a willow tree. “What will you do with yourself once your favourite student is gone from this castle?”

Pressing her back against the gnarled tree trunk, Remus buried his fingers in her hair, and loosened her curls from their binds. “I expect I’ll wither away and die from loneliness. My favourite student happens to be rather pretty in certain lights. Spoiled certainly. But all that _lovely_ blonde hair…”

Hermione glared at him.

“We are talking about Draco Malfoy aren’t we?” he joked as he stepped closer. Bending down, he slanted his mouth over her own, and savoured the way she responded immediately to his attentions.

“I’m serious,” Hermione said after a moment, appearing more attractively rumpled than she had been only a minute ago.

“I know you are,” he smirked as he ran his hand passed the jut of her left hip. Carefully, he lifted the hem of her dress and ran his fingertips against the silken skin he found underneath.

There was no one close by. Not a single soul.

“I resigned today,” he said casually, before he dipped his head for the sake of running the edges of his teeth over the shell of her ear. Easily, he slid his hand towards the juncture of her thighs.

“O-oh?” she stuttered as his fingers skirted the edges of her panties. Her own hands were trapped between their bodies.

“When they gave me that silly Order of the Merlin award,” he continued laving his attention down the expanse of her neck. With his free hand, he moved a spaghetti strap out of the way. “It came with a bit of money,”

“I know. I got that prize too remem…ohChristRemusthatfeels…” she arched into his mouth as he moved the scrap of her underwear aside with his left hand. Languidly, he stroked at her soaking slit; nudging aside the bodice of her sundress, his teeth grazed against the top of her breast.

“I decided to buy a small flat in the city,” he continued. “In the Muggle part of the city. It should work just fine as a home office too,”

Sliding a finger into her welcoming heat, Remus watched hungrily as his witch melted helplessly against the willow tree.

“Are you…” her head fell back. “That is…Private Investi…Investiga…”

“Oh absolutely,” Remus grinned and increased the pace of his efforts. “Lupin Investigations. It sounds fantastic doesn’t it? And…the place is perfect for two people to live in…it’s even got a spare room. I’ve always wanted a music studio…”

“Library…s-sounds better…” her hips moved desperately. “Remus, please…”

“For a housemate, I was thinking…perhaps a pretty, brunette witch with enough brains for the both of us…” he rasped as the pad of his thumb found her clit. “She can get to the Ministry easily enough every day, from where the flat’s located…”

Hermione cried out as she came.

Withdrawing his hand, Remus kept her right where she was, half undressed and all his own.

“I’m not sure I want to work for the Ministry,” she said immediately once she caught her breath. “With the sale of _Lupine Remedium_ , I’m not sure I have to work at all…not if I don’t want to,”

“But…” Remus was suddenly filled with old uneasiness. “But I thought…”

“That’s what other-me did, so that’s what this-me wants?” she asked lightly as her fingers found his belt buckle. “I have to admit, after what you showed me…a lifetime spent helping people seems like the perfect profession,”

“You can make such a difference to so many lives, working for the Ministry and all that,” he protested even as she tugged his boxers aside. Graceful fingers stroked insistently at him, causing his breathing to stutter. “You could be the Minister for Magic,”

“Or…” Hermione dropped to her knees in front of him. “ _Granger-Lupin_ Investigations,”

“It was my idea,” he gasped as she took him in her mouth. “I should come first,”

After a few minutes, she said with a mischievous smile, “I think I already came first,”

Yanking her to her feet, Remus spun her around and braced her hands against the tree. Flipping up the hem of her dress, he tore off her underwear and buried his length inside her.

With one hand at her shoulder and the other at her hip, he thrust hard against her.

“Mine,” he growled as his fingers tightened against her flesh.

“Fuck…oh god…please…” she begged. “Please don’t stop…”

As one, they tipped together over the edge. Slumping into a sweaty heap, Remus grasped tightly at his woman and pulled her into a long, languorous kiss.

“I love you,” she said softly.

“I love you too,” he sighed. “Are you sure?

“Completely sure,” Hermione nodded. “My name should absolutely come first. It’s alphabetical. Also, I believe it was other-me’s idea, not yours,”

“I’m being serious. You’re not worried there’s a price to be paid for all this flagrant misuse of time?” Remus questioned. “ _‘Terrible things happen to those who meddle with time’_ and all that rot,”

Smoothing out her dress, Hermione cast her eyes towards the lake. Very seriously, she told him, “Remus…I don’t think you travelled in time at all. Wherever you were, it wasn’t the future. It wasn’t completely another universe either, I don’t think,”

She wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t already suspected.

“I think every decision we make, splits the universe into different parts,” she continued. “Sometimes they run parallel to each other, sometimes at the same pace…that Hermione you met…I believe she was me…but she also wasn’t. Not really. Does that make sense?”

“I wish it didn’t,” he said quietly. “Her ring…I still have it. I get the feeling it’ll never disappear. There are these strange inconsistencies…not once in our time together, did she mention the year I disappeared. And Teddy… _that_ Teddy was still my son the entire time, never Charlie’s,”

“Remus,” Hermione’s voice cracked. “Does it change how you feel about me? Knowing that I’m probably not…that is to say…that I’m probably not _her_?”

“Even if your theory was true, I believe the both of you stemmed from the same person. Your trajectories were different, but…” Remus reached for her hand. Kissing her knuckles, he held her palm to his heart. “You’re Hermione. You’re _my_ Hermione at that,”

“Are _you_ sure?” her voice was tinged with strange insecurity. “That this…that I am who you want? What if somewhere out there, there’s a Hermione whose better for you?”

“So what you’re saying is I _can’t_ have multiple versions of you?” he mused. “Now there’s a thought. Tell me, if we met an alternate version of you, would you consider it very wrong if I took you both to…”

The witch smacked him upside the head.

“…get a bloody ice cream you violent, dirty-minded woman,” he chortled.

“Only if I got to take an alternate version of you to bed,” she said sweetly. “It wouldn’t be cheating, it’d still be you. Just…different you,”

“With your luck, other-me would be shagging Sirius,” Remus pointed out reasonably.

“Or maybe other-you would be a successful software engineer…or an enigmatic, angsty werewolf who was bloody amazing in bed,” Hermione paused. “You know, I heard Sirius was quite good looking when he was younger. I mean…if the both of you…"

“Nope. That’s too weird…” he made a face. “Anyway, I _am_ an enigmatic werewolf who happens to be fantastic in the sack so…”

“Now now Professor, these days you’re just my older _boyfriend_ ,” she interrupted. “Do you even remember the last time you transformed?”

This resulted in another short scuffle, which petered out onto a sombre silence. Parsing his thoughts, eventually, Remus confessed to the thing which had been haunting him for a little over a year.

“The only regret I have in all of this, is how much I failed your other self…and Rose and Hugo, those poor things…”

“You didn’t fail her,” Hermione told him gently. “You know that don’t you? She was so sad and so alone, until you came into her life and gave it meaning. She died in the arms of a man who treasured and adored her…a man whom _she_ obviously treasured and adored in return,”

Blinking rapidly, Remus murmured, “She deserved so much better,”

Nuzzling into his shoulder, Hermione settled her cheek against his arm.

“The children…if the Harry in that world is anything like the Harry in this one, I have no trouble believing they’ll be well cared for,”

“God I hope so,” Remus rasped. “I haven’t forgiven Molly Weasley yet, for what she’s done. Not even in this timeline or world, or whatever,”

Hermione slumped very slightly. “On the subject of family…I have to find my parents. Someday soon,”

“I know,” he stroked her hair.

Folding towards his witch, Remus breathed her in, and tried not to worry about what the future would bring.

 

**Eight years later…**

The ceremony was lovely. By the light of the full moon as it rose over the horizon, Remus listened raptly as his witch pledged herself to him for this lifetime, and whichever lifetime there was to come.

Off to the side, Ginny wept unashamedly as she lobbed handfuls of petals at the couple.

“Gin, the ceremony’s not over yet,” Remus muttered, as Hermione turned a confused stare towards their over-enthusiastic friend.

“I know but…” she sniffled. “This is…this is just so beautiful,”

Laughing, the married couple completed their vows.

***

Ron gave the first speech.

At the Weasley table, Molly dabbed at her eyes, and for the first time in years, Remus decided that perhaps, just perhaps, he could forgive the woman for sins she had never committed…

 

**Eleven Years Later**

Their oldest was on the train chugging its way to Hogwarts. Sirius Lyall Lupin…a boy with his mother’s eyes and his father’s hair.

“I’m never letting you leave,” Hermione sobbed noisily as she held on to their horrified nine-year-old daughter.

“Darling…” Remus looked faintly embarrassed.

At fifty-seven, he still cut a handsome figure, thanks in no small part to his lycanthropic infection.

Crouched on the platform, clutching at their youngest, Hermione herself didn’t look a day older than twenty-eight. Her findings from other genetic experiments with werewolf chemistry had certainly benefited her own physical form in many, many ways.

“No,” his wife shook her head vehemently. “No, we get to keep _one_ ,”

“Mum, people are looking,” Lyta Jean Lupin protested.

Jean, in memory of another woman, from another life.

“That’s not really how this children thing works…” Remus started, only to back away from the dark look his wife threw at him. Rubbing at his yet un-lined forehead, the man wondered how much he was going to regret what he was going to suggest the moment they arrived home.

And he was only _just_ getting used to having nice things again…

***

“One more,” Hermione promised. “Just one more and I’ll be ready for grandchildren,”

Remus flinched at the thought.

“The things I do for love,” he kissed her on her forehead anyway.

“Stop quoting Jaime Lannister you massive nerd,” Hermione sniffled again. “And thank you,”

 

**Two Months after that…**

The werewolf glared hard at the young man who had arrived in their hotel room to kidnap, torture and kill both himself and his wife.

“First of all, you ever try this shite again on _anyone_ I care about, I will rip you limb from limb, and feed you your own entrails,” Remus said very calmly.

In his armchair artfully placed at the corner of the hotel room, Aquila Goyle shifted uncomfortably.

“You’re incredibly young,” Hermione said from where she was pacing. “Why would you do such a thing? You realize of course, had you succeeded, you would have lived the rest of your life as a wanted criminal,”

“I don’t have a choice,” the boy blurted out. He owned his father’s lumbering size, but not much else. “Father told me I had to,”

“And if he told you to jump off a bridge, you’d do that too?” Remus demanded. Turning to Hermione, he muttered, “Tell me our son’s got better smarts than this,”

“It’s not so simple…” Goyle heaved a large, shaky sigh. “You don’t have a father constantly telling you what a disappointment you are, and how you’ve done nothing to restore the family name,”

“No…” Remus shook his head. “But I had a friend who did. He made his own choices. He’s in history books actually - Sirius Black. I’m sure you’ve heard of him,”

“You’re probably related,” Hermione piped up.

“Shut up Mudblo…”

“Son, you might want to think very carefully about your next words,” Remus growled, rising to his full height.

“We could turn you over to the Aurors…” Hermione came to stand beside him. There was a hard glint in her eyes. “Or…we could simply end you right now,”

“Given that you haven’t actually hurt anyone yet, killing you would be - unfortunately - wrong,” Remus growled.

Aquila murmured dejectedly. “Don’t call the Aurors,”

“Get a job,” Remus pointed at the door. “And the next time you even think about attacking me, my wife, my family or anyone of our friends, remember what I said about your entrails,”

 

**And another three months….**

“Well, this isn’t as graphic as everything you promised, but…” Hermione panted, staring down at the twitching body of Aquila Goyle.

“He’s just bought himself a one way ticket to Azkaban,” Remus sighed. “For a lifetime stay,”

Conjuring a _Patronus_ , he sent a message to Harry.

 

 

**About twenty two years after the Final Battle…**

The house was strangely silent.

Shutting the door behind him, Remus scanned the living room in wary discomfiture. The full moon was due to rise in a few hours, and he had already taken his potion, which meant he wasn’t exactly running at a hundred percent.

“Lyta? Hermione?” he called almost fearfully.

“Up here,” his witch shouted down. “Lyta’s over in Godric’s Hollow. She’ll be back after dinner,”

Allowing his breathing to even out, Remus bounded up the stairs. With their daughter out the house, perhaps Hermione might be persuaded to indulge in a little afternoon…

“Hello,” his wife smiled up at him from where she was sitting in front of the wardrobe. On her lap was an old shoebox, and in her hand was a simple gold ring. A wedding band, which was both hers and not-hers all at once.

“Is everything alright?” he asked as he closed the distance between them. Settling down on the ground beside her, he tucked an arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. Turning his attention to the ring, Remus felt a familiar twinge of wistfulness in the depths of his heart.

“Do you ever think about her?” Hermione asked quietly.

“Sometimes,” he confessed freely. “It’s a bit hard these days, with a pregnant wife who owns some very weird cravings. There’s the children we already have, and a successful business that just keeps on keeping on…”

“I feel so sorry for her. Other-Hermione that is…with every year that passes, I become even more convinced that she was never me,” his wife shook her head and shifted her thickening body.

Deciding he wasn’t looking for an argument, Remus kept his peace. In his mind, he still didn’t believe anything was exactly that simple…

“What’s gotten into you? Why are you all maudlin and sad?” he brushed her curls from her face. “I solved another case today by the way. I sniffed out some rich prat’s fortune,”

“You solved it over twenty-years ago. Now you’re just cheating,” Hermione laughed, though she hiccuped a little as she did so. “I think…I think my pregnancy hormones are what’s causing this. Maybe,”

“Oh sweetheart,” he leaned down and caught her mouth in a soft kiss. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but…I really hope this phase passes soon,”

“Wanker,” she pushed him off of her. Hesitating a moment, she slipped the gold band in her palm onto the fourth finger of her right hand.

The sight of it made Remus’s breath catch just a little.

“You’re going to think I’m ridiculous. But…I think she doesn’t deserve to moulder away in a box. I’m grateful to her you know, for this life she’s given us. If you’d never met her, you’d never have looked twice at me,”

“That’s not true at all,” Remus touched the wedding ring she wore with his fingertips…not the ring another-Ron had given to another-Hermione that is, but the ring which bound her to _him_ , and him to her.

“I suppose there’s no point speculating,” she nodded. Keeping the box away, Hermione shuffled to her feet with his help. “You’re later than I thought you were going to be,”

“Aurora called and asked me if I wanted to take tea with her after I finished up with the treasure hunt,” Remus steered his wife towards the bed. He hadn’t yet given up on his idea of taking advantage of their time alone. “She’s thinking about purchasing iPads for the Library, and wanted my opinion on whether or not it was a good idea,”

“Of course that’s _all_ she wanted to talk to you about,” Hermione sniffed haughtily as he fell to his knees between her thighs. “She doesn’t still carry a torch for you or anything,”

“It’s been decades. Don’t tell me you’re still annoyed at her,” he demanded as he leaned backwards from her, half in amusement, half in genuine aggravation.

“She asked you out right in front of me,” the witch insisted.

“One date,” Remus reminded her. “We went on _one_ date, which got cut short because I ran off to find you. Might I remind you, you were in Hogsmeade that day with Ronald Weasley on a date of your own,”

“Still,” his wife crossed her arms over her swollen belly.

“Hermione…in case you haven’t yet figured it out,” Remus cast his eyes towards the ceiling in actual and genuine frustration. “I’ve been trying to seduce you for the past ten minutes,”

“Oh,” her brown eyes widened. “Oh, I see…”

Sighing in a mixture of annoyance and contentment, he leaned up and kissed his woman on her mouth…

The sound of the Floo floated towards his ears.

“Mum! Daaad!” Lyta called from downstairs. "I'm starving! Somebody feed me!"

Swearing softly, Remus rubbed at his face in thwarted frustration even as Hermione began to laugh in earnest.

***

Wandering through his warded house later that night, Remus peeked in on his sleeping daughter. Stealing into her room, he kissed her forehead and drew her comforter up to her chin, all the while remembering when she had been nothing more than a lovely babe who fit neatly in his protective arms.

Leaving her bedroom, he padded softly back to the chambers he shared with his wife. Shucking his clothes, he climbed underneath their sheets, and wrapped his limbs around his Hermione. Outside their window, the full moon was visible just under the edge of a passing cloud.

Catching sight of the gold ring on the slumbering woman’s right hand, he allowed himself a grateful smile, untinged by sadness or fear.

“Thank you,” he murmured softly, acknowledging the presence of a woman who never was, and who probably would never be.

Drifting off to sleep, for the first time in decades, Remus stopped questioning the nature of things as they were, and simply dwelled within the luxury of the present, and everything it had to offer.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid this is the end of my trope-verse*. I don't even know if y'all like this story but personally, I had so much fun writing it, I couldn't stop. Weirdly enough, it's also my own personal favourite.
> 
> *Unless someone has a prompt.


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